


death, he does not bother me

by thraume (ethia)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: AU, F/M, Kat kicks ass all over the place, Kit & Gabe light up the universe, Mirror Mirror, Smut, and did I mention disturbing, and then there was Rachel, as happy as they can be ever after, bring on the drama, call it friendship if you will, crack is the name of the game, except Katrina sometimes does, it always pays to come prepared, let me tell you all about wrong bad wrong, mindfuck is just another word for abuse, no one ever listens to Terral, no really they set it right on fire, or maybe not if canon goes there too, or was that trauma, there might be a bit of a plot somewhere in here, things are about to get twisted, yeah right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/thraume
Summary: In which Katrina sets out to get her lover back, which turns out to be a little more complicated than she initially thought.E rating is for later chapters. And, quite possibly, language.





	1. hell hath no fury

**Author's Note:**

> Props to **technoir84** for unwittingly giving me this bunny in a comment by describing Lorca as 'a crazy mixed up person from an alternative universe'. I hope you don't mind I ran away with it.
> 
> AU as of _Into The Forest I Go_. I don't do mainstream well, so weirdness abounds, but you should know that by now. Here goes.
> 
> Title: Eliza Shaddad, _Waters_.  
>  Chapter titles  
> 01/02: William Congreve, _The Mourning Bride_.  
>  03: The xx, _Crystalised_  
>  04: The Oh Hellos, _Dear Wormwood_  
>  05: Sigrid, _Don't Kill My Vibe_  
>  06: Grace Grundy, _Call On Me_  
>  07: Emma Heesters, _Lean On_  
>  08: Matthew And The Atlas, _Palace_  
>  09: Elm, _Concentrate_  
>  10: Fitz and The Tantrums, _Let Me Love You_  
>  11: Banners, _Half Light_  
>  12: Fismoll, _Eager Boy_

_She dies at the hands of her enemy, the precise dose of the current a secret between the two of them._

_Death gifts her with an intricately crafted blade up her sleeve._

_If she were still alive, Katrina would smile with the knowledge._

//

They tumble like stones in a riverbed, the _bird_ dropping out of the sky, clipped wings and all. Bent metal groans under too much pressure, friction licking fire all over the hull. Life flits by at roughly ten meters per second as rock bottom quickly becomes their exclusive, and very definitive option.

“Prepare for impact.”

The words are all but inaudible, that curious accent drowned out by the blare of half a dozen alarms, the bridge tinged in hues of red, every surface bleeding ruby, crimson, scarlet.

They hit the ground in a spray of dirt and rock, an endless slide across mile after mile of desert, one buck of a ride, impact velocity at their disservice. The ship's superstructure splits apart like overripe fruit, the bridge at its core curling in about itself, knit tight into a sturdy cocoon, like that's what it was meant to do all along. A trail of oilblack smoke billows out behind them, a storm cloud of their own making, a beacon to their enemy.

When they finally come to a stop, torn up and mangled beyond any recognition, death looks the other way.

So do their hunters.

Nothing much could crawl out of this bled-out wreck alive.

//

Katrina rises with a snarl, a raw sound of pain rising up her throat, the knife a secret weight in her palm. So far, death has not been very impressive. But then, she never meant for it to stick.

She doesn't spare a second glance at the tracks leading away in a straight line, but sets off in the opposite direction, toward the serrated line of a mountain range they must have swept over right before the crash.

The hilt of the ceremonial dagger clutched tightly in her hand, to remind herself she's predator, not prey.

God have mercy on the poor soul getting in the way of her safe return.

The sun is a menacing glare just barely passed over the horizon, its heat a crackle over Katrina's skin, a steady scorch that burns her sweat away until she itches under a crust of salt and dust.

Grime has nothing on days of being tortured by the Klingons.

Katrina marches, a grim smile peeking out from under her jacket slung about her head.

Fortune favors the bold.

Hell, yes, does it ever.

//

Starfleet keeps mum about her return, at her behest, and if that raises a few eyebrows, Katrina couldn't give less of a fuck.

There's a man she needs to see about a mission of peace and goodwill.

Said man might just not be inclined to see her, too.

Wouldn't do to alert him of her intentions ahead of time.

No, that wouldn't do at all.

//

_Discovery_ isn't too hard to track down, even if reports to the rest of the fleet have slowed to a sorry trickle.

Looks like Gabriel has been busy making himself scarce, on orders no less, and Katrina can't quite help but be impressed by the spin he put on her words.

That spore drive can't have had a minute of slack during her Klingon time-out.

And so it is that the _Discovery_ is ordered to take aboard a small congregation of diplomats expected on Vulcan post haste to try and hash out a deal for a fresh round of peace talks with the enemy Katrina has learned to hate with a passion that scares her.

As ruses go, it's just straightforward enough to reel Gabriel in.

And maybe rattle him up some, while she's at it.

By the time the _Fram_ makes it to the rendezvous coordinates, she has worked through the brunt of her trauma, doused the white-hot rage, just a small glimmer remaining quite deep under the surface, where she can keep a careful eye on it.

As to the rest of it, well.

It's not like things with Gabriel have been easy lately. Too fraught with emotion on her part, and a disheartening lack of it on his, the last months of their friendship have put a strain on her, a shadow of concern cast over each of their encounters, when all they once set out to be was close, even at a distance, someone to always mean something to the other, no strings attached.

Now all strings have been cut loose, messed up in a tangle, quite impossible to reconnect.

What Katrina needs, more than rest, more than time to make peace with the fact of having let herself be so dreadfully blinded, is a chance to make less of a stranger of the man she used to call her friend.

She's going to get herself some answers.

And God have mercy on Gabriel Lorca if they aren't the right ones.


	2. like a woman scorned

_They sit with their feet dangling in the water, naked legs pressed together, Gabriel's fingers chasing droplets on her sunwarm skin._

_The lake still and wide, the sky a shimmer on its surface, a sheen of clearest blue, placid and endless in the cradle of its shore._

_His mouth hungry on hers as he pulls her down on the dock with him, heat rising from the smooth wood underneath, five days of leave an infinity between them._

_It's the first time Gabriel tells her he loves her._

//

There isn't anything diplomatic at all about Katrina's arrival on the _Discovery_ , save for the fact perhaps that she keeps a face so straight it would do any Vulcan proud.

Words can't describe Gabriel's expression as she exits the shuttle in lieu of the delegates he expected, but once all of this is over, Katrina will make the time and try. No way she can do the appalling mix of surprise and chagrin any justice.

Not to mention the rush of fear in his eyes.

He takes forever to catch himself.

“Katrina.” She doesn't mind the slip-up so much, but she can tell that he does, his jaw clenched like he can contain her name long after the fact. “Admiral. We weren't informed that you'd be a part of the mission. That you had been rescued. I'm glad to welcome you back on the _Discovery_.”

His tongue must burn with the lie, she's sure of it. He certainly looks like something sour burst open right there in his mouth.

Makes it so much easier to do what she came for.

“Captain Gabriel Lorca, you are hereby relieved of your command. It is my firm belief that in the course of recent events, you have been compromised, and are therefore unfit for duty. You will stand down, and await further investigation in _Discovery's_ holding cell. For the interim, I am assuming command of the ship, until such a time that a fitting replacement has been decided upon.”

If ever he's looked like a total stranger, it's in this moment, not a lick of diplomacy left between them. Tension swells about him like an oncoming storm, sick with anger, fear and apprehension. Poised on the brink of breaking, insubordination radiating off every line and angle of his body.

But then, like a shutter drawn, he deflates, something like calm settling over him, a danger in its own right.

“You're making a terrible mistake,” he says, leaning close as her security detail prepares to march him off.

“I'll be happy to have you prove me wrong,” Katrina murmurs, for his ears alone.

And that is nothing but the truth.

//

She doesn't flinch when his fists hit the force field, a ripple of light racing out toward its edges.

"So this is you not wanting to ruin my career?" His palms flattened out now, like he means to appease in the wake of his outburst. Backed into a corner, as of yet undecided how best to handle his predicament.

How to handle her.

Like he has any idea where even to start.

Katrina smiles. She can be as much of a stranger to him than he is to her. She's always liked for them to be on equal footing.

"This is me being back from the dead. My apologies for the inconvenience."

"Don't do this, Kat." She steps in, drawn by the softness of his voice. Up this close, the field is a flick of electricity on her skin, a buzz of static that unsettles her. Much like that glint in his eyes, at odds with his words, harsh and unforgiving.

Time for some brass of her own.

"What, call you out on your bullshit? Any time you need it. Promised you a long time ago. But then, you don't remember, do you? Much like the Perseids. And it's Admiral, by the way."

Her feet firmly planted, she watches him pace, so torn between his apparent familiarity and the irritating chafe of his strangeness that she's glad of the tight press of her arms around her chest. Something tangible to keep her grounded in the face of his ambiguity.

“I got it all wrong. You see, I spent hours mulling things over on that ship. Adding them up. Nothing else to do while I waited for them to come back. All those little things about you. So very many of them. All that time I thought it was the trauma, but it was not. It was something much bigger. I need you to tell me who you are. Who's that man I slept with, the man who would have accepted my death, and gladly so, if it meant he could keep his command? Tell me, what do I call you?”

He pushes himself off the field with a grunt, then he laughs, sharp and hard.

“Not friend then, I guess.”

“Not even close.”

With his back against the far wall, at as much of a distance as possible, he finally settles, a mirror of her pose, his smile a vile and brittle thing.

“Then Gabriel Lorca must do.”

He flinches when Katrina's hands hit the field, and she revels in it, her anger a slash of venom in her voice.

“I don't think it will.”

//

Captain's quarters come with the territory, and so do the memories stuffed in its corners.

The bed, recently made, devoid of any weapons.

She makes a point of checking twice.

Apparently, he usually keeps his phaser by his desk.

Her tour of the room is short and unproductive, as revealing about him as the man himself.

With a sigh, she sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Computer, open personal logs, Gabriel Lorca, starting from stardate 1023.2.”

The final day of the _Buran_. What better place to start.

“Working. Denied. Personal logs are not subject to public disclosure.”

“Captain Lorca is considered unfit for duty. I have cause to suspect he's experienced severe mental trauma. Information contained in his personal logs might aid me in finding the cause for his current condition. Medical override, Dr. Katrina Cornwell, alpha, kilo, five, five, one.”

“Working. Opening personal log, Gabriel Lorca, stardate 1023.2.”


	3. that I've kept closest

_1023.2_

Everyone's a stranger now.

Familiar faces, all the old haunts – they look the same, but they are not. An itch on my skin. Like waking up in the wrong body.

Which actually isn't too far from the truth.

The swap went smoothly enough, everything according to plan. Night shift, a skeleton crew, we couldn't have chosen better.

He never even saw me coming.

The aftereffects of the passage are minor this time - headache, dry mouth, nausea. Nothing a stiff drink couldn't cure.

Too bad I couldn't take Kit along.

She would have loved the fireworks.

  
_1023.7_

He made it home okay. Kit says he isn't talking yet, but soon enough, he will.

Sing like a good little bird for her.

Until then, I'll make do with vagueness and blunder. Bluff them within an inch of their lives.

Fake memory loss, if push comes to shove.

What can you expect of a captain who's recently lost his ship and entire crew?

Gotta get it just right, though.

Not a soul left to ask the right questions. Everyone who knew him well enough dead.

And then blame the Klingons. Bastards deserve it.

Here's hoping that in the long run, Cornwell doesn't turn out to be a problem.

I'd just hate to have to take care of her.

  
_1023.9_

Everything's set up, the whole place rigged.

Kit, baby, today we're making history.

And in no time at all, we'll take their war back to the Klingons' doorstep.

  
_1024.4_

Fuck.

Fuck them all to hell.

Too close to the explosion, misjudged my timing by no more than two minutes, and now I'm blind. Can't see a single fucking thing.

Won't let that stop me.

I'm still going back home.

Along with my prize.

  
_1031.7_

Cornwell is _worried_.

But not suspicious.

Not a problem at all.

If I weren't here on business, I might just let myself enjoy her attention.

  
_1037.3_

Kit's good about providing information.

I suspect she's growing attached to him.

But let her for now.

It's not like we need to keep him around for much longer.

  
_1042.4_

_Discovery_ is mine.

Still getting used to handling her.

That engineer is slow coming with progress on the jumps, but we'll get there eventually.

Just a little more patience.

Going to get there soon enough.

I'll see to it, with everything I've got.

  
_1047.8_

Got Burnham on board, with quite some effort.

Pretty much useless on this side of things.

Still worth of keeping around, though.

Too much potential to let it go to waste.

Isn't just anyone who starts a war.

  
_1062.6_

Cornwell's on my back about my handling of _Discovery_.

Turned out a problem after all.

It begs a solution. I can't be stopped now.

If charms won't get me there, I must be on the lookout for a more permanent fix.

Bit of a shame, really.


	4. I know who you are now

“Give us the room, lieutenant.”

The guard snaps off a brisk salute before he jumps to it, quite obviously glad to get out of earshot.

Clever boy.

In his cell, Lorca smiles, slow and sure, blood in the water, ready for the kill.

Like he is the fucking shark in the room.

“Computer, disable force field.”

“Advising prior constraint of the prisoner.”

“Acknowledged. Disable field now.”

Oh, the pleasure of wiping that grin off his face.

“Why hello, Kat, how nice of you to come around again so soon.”

He grunts as she slams into him, his back crashing into the wall, the blade a glint of steel poised at his throat, a clear and present warning to make not even the smallest mistake.

"I killed two Klingons with a dagger no bigger than the flat of my palm. Don't you even think for a second I'd hesitate to do it again." She forces the tip of her knife, the slightest nick of metal on skin, the merest hint of pressure to drive home her point. "I know who you are now. You're not the same man, literally. You're one of them. From over there. The Terran Empire. I've read Archer's reports, much as I couldn't believe them. But it's true. You're true. Tell me why you're here. How you got here. What you want. Why the _Discovery_ is so important to you."

It all makes terrible, beautiful sense to her now. The facts clicked neatly into place, one by one, a mosaic of knowledge, the most certain of revelations. Bits and pieces from redacted files, intelligence reports buried so deep that only an admiral would ever even be apprised of their existence.

How nothing about him would quite fit, all the little hiccups she ignored over the past months in her desire to have him be her friend of old, like maybe if she didn't acknowledge it, he hadn't really changed at all.

"I must have been quite the complication for you. You got your facts straight, I will give you that. But the personal details? That must have been hell. Navigating from guess to guess, always hoping to avoid the one fuck-up that would ruin it all. You needn't have worried so much; when it comes to Gabriel, I've always been too soft. Lenient in my affection. Hardly a thing I wouldn't have done for him. Or turned a blind eye to, it would seem."

His body tenses under hers, the press of his muscle a threat she doesn't underestimate. Her blade draws blood, the finest of lines, right next to his pulse.

It only serves to make him grin again.

"You know, I quite enjoyed fucking you. Just wish you'd shown me more of that fire."

Her grip on the knife might just break the hilt, temptation an ugly beast in her, an unequal fight. For now, she still has use of him. Doesn't mean she has to like it.

Not one single bit.

"Fuck me over, you mean."

"Oh, no hard feelings, honey. Not between us."

She stays the knife, but barely.

"Tell me if he's still alive."

"He might just be."

"If you're lying just to make me take this ship over there, I swear I will find a way to make you pay that's gonna hurt in the grandest, most spectacular way."

He laughs, like this is all a party trick, some funny trifle to keep him amused.

"Oh, he's alive. She's got an interest in him. Same as you. At least for as long as I'm stuck over here."

“She. Kit? It's me, isn't it. Over there. She the reason why you sleep with a phaser in your bed?"

"The worst of many."

“Tell me why you're here.”

Lorca leans close, heedless of the knife, his breath a sickening heat all over her face. “No.”

“Then we're done here.”

Not a second too soon.

She's sick with it all, no anger left to prop her up.

Just outside the door, the knife clatters to the ground, slipped free from her trembling hand.

She's going to be sick all right.

//

There's a tribble on the desk in his ready room. A week ago, she wouldn't have pegged him as the type to keep a pet.

Right now, she wouldn't peg him as anything at all.

She feeds the small beast, ruffles the soft fur, then decides she's kept off the call for just long enough.

Steady, Kat.

“Admiral Cornwell. Your arrival on the _Discovery_ has caused quite the stir. Command was concerned to hear about Captain Lorca's dismissal, to say the least.”

Trust Terral to forgo the niceties for a not so veiled reprimand.

"And with good reason, too. He's Terran Empire, Terral. An infiltrator from over there. Not even close to the man he made us believe he was."

By tacit agreement, the handling of Gabriel Lorca has been left to her care, and just see where it got them. Her judgement clouded by an emotion she's never put a name to other than friendship, like that would make the depth and reach of it any less real. Terral's arched eyebrow seems to be in perfect accord with her assessment, but, for now at least, he seems content to keep his silence on the matter.

"That is indeed a cause for concern.” He pauses to study her. “You seem amazingly calm in the face of all this."

She stares at him for the longest time.

"This is not the time to commend me for my emotional restraint, Terral."

"I am speaking as your friend, Admiral."

"I value your opinion, but I'd rather you didn't. Not in this. And surely not now."

He bows his head, his hands folded in front of his chest. Displeased.

“As you wish.”

At some point, Katrina will have to make amends. Now is not that time. Now she needs to get to the heart of the matter.

"Let's talk about Lorca. Our version. I believe they took him and kept him alive for the information they could get out of him."

"If that is true, if they have infiltrated us in such a manner, then there is no knowing the extent of this threat."

"Gabriel might know."

"Unlikely."

Always with that fucking logic. Katrina flattens her palm on her thigh. Deep breath, then go on. Calm, calm. Don't let him think she's emotional about this.

As though he'll be fooled for as much as a second.

"If he's alive, if there's a chance, we have got to get him back." Terral's eyebrow goes up in an elegant arch. Caught. "What?"

"You put me in mind of Captain Lorca's more questionable reasoning. Are you seeking to turn this into a personal crusade?”

_Fuck_.

"You said yourself we don't even know how far this reaches. Going over there is our best chance of finding out."

"That would be rash. We should interrogate your prisoner, then evaluate the information we acquire."

"Well, good luck with that. He's not going to talk. Not with any kind of technique Starfleet is comfortable to employ. I think he planned to use the _Discovery_ to get back home. Then use her to his own ends in some way. Let me go over and find out."

"We cannot risk the _Discovery_."

Oh, the irony of it all. So that's what Lorca felt like when talking to her.

“That's what she's _for_ , Terral. Our best weapon. The tactical advantage the enemy doesn't see coming. Let's make use of it.”

The hologram flickers as Terral takes a moment to ponder. Katrina counts, seconds like minutes, and still she's sick with the magnitude of it all.

“I shall discuss your request with Command. You may expect my answer within the day.” He steps close, a calm in his eyes Katrina would kill for. “Do not be hasty, Admiral Cornwell.”

“I won't. Thank you, Terral. As your friend.”

//

Blood stains the top of his collar, a tiny smear that only Katrina knows to look for.

It makes her feel like there is at least some justice left in the world.

It also makes her want for more.

“You're staying.”

“I'm coming.” He leans into the field until it buzzes, harsh and angry, protesting his weight. Katrina hopes it hurts, even if he doesn't show it.

“You're a threat. A liability. I would be a fool to even consider taking you back there.”

“Without me, you're never gonna get the jump right. I'm coming.”

“As my prisoner. Just so that we are clear on the matter.”

“For the time being. Hoping for an exchange, sweetheart? Kit isn't soft like that, you should know. She likes me, but she's very fond of keeping her toys.”

This time, he doesn't so much as bat an eye, the smear of his smile never wavering when she slams her hand against the field, smack into the breadth of his chest.

Too bad he never feels it.

“Do not taunt me again, or I'll find the blackest of black sites for you to rot in for the rest of your sorry life.”

“I just love it when you're all riled up, Katrina. Reminds me of home.”

“I'll see to it that memories will be all you've got left once I'm through with you.”

His laughter trails after her as she whips out of the room.

She'll tear it out of him yet.

If it's the last thing she does.


	5. but I throw myself from heights

_There's a wash of darkness in the house, like the rain followed them inside, the sun drowned out, the air heavy and rich with a scent of wet soil._

_Katrina hates it._

_Hates the memories clinging like cobwebs in the corner of every room, lurking in the slant of his mouth, the shape of her eyes in the mirror, springing from pictures they can't bring themselves to take down._

_Hates his silence curling into her own, because there are no words, not one that could hold the immensity of what they need to say._

_They speak in terms more immediate than sound, comfort brought with hands on skin, a taste of sweat and musk in their mouths._

_Even though Katrina knows better than this._

_She presses close in the hallway, not a sound, just her hands eager to peel him out of his clothes, have him be rid of the dark shell they've both been forced into._

_The bed a place apart from the rest of the world, the smallest possible space for them to exist in together._

_He bears down on her with the brunt of his weight, like he means to keep her trapped under the seal of his body forever. Where she's his, and safe. She pulls with his push, makes him fuck her slowly, deeply, until he's trembling with the effort of holding himself together, each thrust a fight for control._

_His sweat warm on her face, like so many tears._

_He licks it off her skin, then kisses the salt into her mouth, the bitterness fading away under the heat of his tongue._

_His eyes focused on hers as she comes, her body an arch of tension under his, her legs slung so fiercely round his waist that she's shaking with it._

_She can't ever let go._

_He breaks with a small and inarticulate sound, pushing so very close, fit snugly into the tightness of her embrace._

_They slip apart with a kiss that lingers, a warmth that passes from mouth to mouth, back and forth, shared like a gift. Each of them then exhausted on their own side of the bed, a small distance that settles more heavily on Katrina the longer it lasts._

_She turns to seek the comfort of his arms around her again, the one constant that helps her endure._

_But he's gone, the bed empty and cold._

Katrina slips awake with her eyes burning and brimming, her lashes wet and heavy with it.

Such a long time, and it never gets old.

Or any less painful.

Doesn't take a professional opinion for her to know what this means, why any of this would resurface now, when strength is what she needs.

When loss is her theme.

She pushes herself off the couch with a grunt, her body unimpressed by the brief rest she made herself take, her neck all stiff and angry with tension.

Not a thing in this world would have brought her back into that bed.  
  
A shower reinstates a part of her vigor, a semblance of awake and alert, just barely befitting the commanding officer of Starfleet's finest. Running on fumes, for as long as it takes.

Whatever it takes.

She's going to get Gabriel back.

One step after another.

Coffee in hand, Katrina takes a seat at his desk, her guts sick and tight with the thought of him sitting in that chair. The stranger who stole himself into her life. The filthy thief.

She'll make him pay. For everything he did, and then some.

Good thing she's a sure hand at the helm of her own fate.

“Computer, open subspace channel to Starfleet Command, Admiral Hensley.”

“Working.”

No way she's going to leave Command's decision to good fortune. When this is all over, she won't have a single favor left to call in.

With any luck, she will no longer need to.

//

“Admiral on the bridge.”

Saru frees the seat so fast she almost smiles with that old familiar thrill of taking command. Another thing that doesn't seem to get old.

She doesn't sit down, but takes a stand behind the chair, placing her hands lightly on its back, a picture of calm.

"Lt. Owosekun, open a ship-wide channel."

"Yes, ma'am." A curt nod is Katrina's go.

"This is Admiral Cornwell speaking. As many of you already know, Captain Lorca has been relieved of his post, and command of the _Discovery_ has passed over to me."

All eyes on her, Katrina speaks with the ease of years and years of leadership, a burden that by now sits almost comfortably on her shoulders.

“The man you got to know as Captain Gabriel Lorca is an impostor, hailing from a place called the Terran Empire. He took the stead of the man who by all rights should have been your captain. That man might very well still be alive, and in the possession of valuable information about the reach of this intrusion. While I'm not at liberty to disclose any details, I can give you a general overview of the situation. The Empire exists in a place much different from ours, not easily reached. They are at odds with Starfleet's vision, a diametrical opposite of what we've all pledged ourselves to achieve. This latest act of undermining us is a threat we cannot take too seriously. A threat Starfleet Command is discussing how to best counteract even as I speak to you.”

She pauses to glance from face to face. Rapt attention. Good. She can work it from here.

"Gabriel Lorca, as I have come to know him, is a good man. A captain who would stop at nothing to protect his crew, who is immensely proud of the men and women thriving under his command. He's kind, and generous, a brilliant tactician, an explorer at heart. He deserves better than to be left for dead in the hands of people who pose a threat to everything that Starfleet stands for. Who would see us fall so that they may rise. He deserves for someone to stand up for him, same as he would do for any of you. Pending orders from Starfleet Command, I am counting on each and everyone of you to help get him back, and end this vile threat to our integrity in times of war, when we need so much to trust each other."

With a nod to Owosekun, Katrina steps away from the chair.

There's nothing left to say for now.

//

It's not too much of a surprise that Saru asks to join her in the ready room shortly after.

“You may speak openly, Commander,” Katrina says to forestall the tedious necessities of protocol. Saru clucks his tongue, a small sound Katrina takes for astonishment. This time, she does smile. “I'm not one for red tape in a time of crisis.”

“Very well, ma'am.” He seems calm enough, his head and shoulders curled slightly downwards, as though in apology of their difference in heights. “Surely I do not need to remind you of the scientific nature of the _Discovery'_ s original mission. Even though that... impostor bent it to his military purposes.”

Not unlike Command. War has shaved off a lot of their principles.

“I'm well aware, Mr. Saru.”

Another cluck of his tongue, then a small pause, like he's for some reason hesitant to go on.

“That said, I should like to inform you that while this crew is largely unprepared to deal with battle, most of us have learned to adapt to the demands Captain Lorca made of us. Unpleasant as it may have been at times. If ordered to investigate this situation, we will do our best to be of assistance to you, Admiral Cornwell. We cannot abide by the risk of having a third faction entering into this conflict. Most certainly not as our enemy.”

“Thank you, Commander. I know the past months have been hard on you all. That what I and Command are asking you to do will be even harder. I'm glad of your support.”

Saru bows his head, his small smile almost hidden by the angle of his face.

“My pleasure, Admiral.”


	6. find a way to cheat

The drive chamber's already alive with discussion when Katrina arrives, late on purpose to give everyone a chance to let off some steam without the inhibition of an admiral's presence in the room.

With the enormity of their proposed mission looming large, she owes them this much at least. She stays by the door for a moment, oblivious of their words, content to watch, study their faces, read their mannerisms. Get a first impression of what drives them.

What a ragtag band of strays he's assembled. Not one of them in any position to step out of line, let alone question any of his decisions. A safe bet for a traitor.

Makes her wonder who they are over there. If Lorca has a special interest in any of them beyond what they're bringing to the table over here.

It's a risk, trusting them, with nothing but their word to vouch for their integrity.

It's not like Katrina has much of a choice.

“Admiral.”

Burnham steps up with her head bowed just so, her eyes shining with curiosity. Her voice too quiet for the others to notice, mindful of Katrina's intentions. A subtlety Katrina already finds useful. She smiles.

“Burnham. Since the question will arise – I would like for you to keep your position as science specialist for the duration.”

“I thought as much when your invitation to gather here included me, ma'am.”

“Good. I can do with some forward thinking.” She leans close, her voice but a murmur between them. “So long as you remember to color within the lines I draw.”

Pulling herself up to her full height, she's ready to announce her arrival to the rest of them.

“If everyone present is quite ready to get going. Time is at a premium, and we've got a lot of work ahead of us.”

The redhead, Cadet Tilly, flinches at the unexpected sound of her voice, but catches herself quickly enough. The two men, Culber and Stamets, who the crew manifest states share quarters, turn their heads toward her in unison. Katrina steps up, Burnham in her tow.

“From what I could gather, which sadly is little enough, the impostor planned to use _Discovery_ 's spore drive to return to his home, the Terran Empire. So far, Starfleet personnel has only ever reached that place under adventitious circumstances. Lieutenant Stamets, did Captain Lorca ask you to do anything unusual recently?”

Stamets crunches up his face, his mouth pulled into a very tight line, the pale fuzz of his eyebrows pulled closely together.

“He had me do a series of short jumps, several times. Some of them felt downright... weird. Like being rubbed the wrong way.” He licks his finger, then drags it up the length of his arm from wrist to elbow. “See? Ew. You really wanna go there? Yeah, yeah, all right, you do. I get it. Just. _Ew_.”

“I had to treat him for severe migraine every time. But the captain wouldn't hear anything of it.” Culber has stepped up, one shoulder shoved protectively in front of Stamets. Katrina nods to acknowledge his concern.

“I see. I would like you to keep Lieutenant Stamets under close medical surveillance during any tests we decide to run. I won't risk his health over this.”

Not if she can somehow avoid it.

Stamets huffs as he steps around the doctor, his face soft with a rather private expression of sufferance.

“I'm fine with this. It's a jump right into history. I can do this. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure small spells of amnesia are nothing to be worried about at all.” Culber looks downright murderous. Stamets shrugs it off like it's nothing.

“Our doctor here has a flair for the dramatic. I'm fine, and I'm prepared to try. Would be nice to have a captain who actually cared for a change. Present company excluded, Admiral.”

“Don't expect me to wipe your brains off the floor afterwards,” Culber mutters, not at all under his breath.

If things were different, any less strained, Katrina might actually find some consolation in their thinly veiled domestics.

“We will have to include _him_ , won't we. I mean, we don't even have any idea where to start.”

Tilly, quiet up to now behind the safety of a console, looks pale but resolute, her brilliant mind already at work to tackle the problem at hand.

“Yes, Cadet. Security will keep a close watch on him at any time. He won't impede your work in any way.”

“He might not want to contribute to our endeavor to begin with, Admiral,” Burnham says, the softness of her voice edged with doubt. Sharp to a fault, that one.

“What he wants is to return home, Burnham, with _Discovery_ his only option at this point. I will personally see to it that he doesn't forget that.” It's a struggle, but Katrina keeps perfectly calm, her face and voice as blank as they possibly could be. She can't let her anger at him keep distracting her from what needs to be done. Or rub off in any way on these people who are generous enough to take the risk and help her, without any official order to back her up yet. “Thank you for your time. Let's all get to work.”

//

It's even worse than Katrina imagined.

He makes a game of opposing her every step of the way, each morsel of information pried from him with utmost effort.

A king holding court, and her a fool for entertaining him.

Progress is slow, Lorca going out of his way to keep everyone off their ease.

For no other reason than his personal amusement. Like he doesn't even care that he's slowing his own way home.

When he repeatedly leans over Tilly's shoulder, pressing close until the Cadet is strung so taut that her breath comes in sharp little gulps, Katrina has just about had enough.

Tyler is quick to catch her gaze; quicker still to take Lorca aside, quite out of earshot.

Lorca just laughs at the anger she doesn't even bother to keep from her face.

“Jealous, honey? There really is no need, you should know.” Katrina refuses to freeze at the tone of his voice, low and intimate, like a lover's. An undertow of gravity, like he really means it.

Tyler's hand tightens on Lorca's arm, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. Lorca doesn't give any indication of pain, his eyes still on Katrina. Refusing to let go. She swallows, slow and thick, somehow trapped in his stare.

A predator's thrall.

Mistaking Katrina for his prey. She shakes it off, too much of an effort for her liking, and deliberately turns her head to look at Tyler.

"That's quite enough, Lieutenant. We treat our prisoners with respect. Whether they return the courtesy or not."

"Oh, you do?" Lorca leans close, right back into her field of view, the slant of his mouth a dirty leer. “Does that include keeping them at knifepoint? I'm just asking for future reference.”

Next to him, Tyler makes a sound that might well be a gasp, a glimmer of respect flashing in his eyes as he looks at Katrina. "Yes, ma'am."

“Give us a moment,” Katrina says, raising a hand to stifle any protest from Tyler. “We'll be just fine. Won't we?”

“I'll be very good for you, darling. All you need to do is ask me to.” Again with that tone, and Katrina feels dirty under his gaze, naked somehow without the liberty to let her anger run free.

Worst thing is, she knows he can tell.

And he likes it. Entirely too much.

She steps as close as she possibly can, her head held high, as much of a menace as she can make herself be.

“You are going to help us. You are going to give us any information we need to make that jump. If you don't, if you continue to hinder our progress in any way at all, I'll have your ass dragged off this ship so fast you'll never know what hit you. Because these men and women over there? They're going to get there on their own. It may take them a while, but if it means I can spare them from being harassed by you, then so be it. Don't try me. I will be true to my word.”

He dips his head, his mouth all hot and close over her ear. “Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

His laughter is a low rumble that washes over her.

“Any time you like, honey.”

With that, he saunters over to the rest of the group, Tyler clinging to him like a shadow. Speaking with all the authority of a captain still, unmoved by the enmity in his former crew's eyes. If anything, he seems to enjoy it.

Looking altogether too pleased.

A sense of foreboding burns like a fever under Katrina's skin.

Nothing for it now.

He's the only option she's got.

Even if it makes her sick to the bone.

//

Katrina Cornwell, personal log, stardate 1221.7

We're just about good to go.

His personal quirks aside, Lorca has been as helpful as we could expect him to be, fueled undoubtedly by his wish to finally return home. I know he can't be trusted. I know he will stab me in the back at the first opportunity.

Well, let's see him try.

He doesn't even know who he's up against.

The crew have gone out of their way to make this whole enterprise possible. Science is what they excel at, after all.

I just hate to have to send them into the unknown like this.

Likely from one war into another.

Terral should contact me any minute now.

As much as I hate to admit it, but his news aren't likely to have any impact on my decision.

I'm trying to play this by the book, I really am.

But I can't stop thinking about Gabriel over there.

What he must be going through. What they are doing to him.

What _she_ is.

For months and months, every single day. Every single night. While I didn't have a clue.

I need to bring him back. End his torment.

Here's hoping I won't have to defy orders to do so.

Because for Gabriel, I will.

//

“Command is ordering you to take the _Discovery_ into enemy territory and examine the origin and scope of the Terran Empire's movements against us. Put a halt to their actions if you can.”

Katrina doesn't sway with relief, doesn't even close her eyes like she so desperately wants to. She's still under Terral's gaze, quietly composed, her palms sweaty where she keeps them clasped on the desk in front of her.

“Understood. Please notify Command that anticipating their decision, I've taken the liberty of preparing the ship and crew for immediate departure. We're ready to go.”

“I should like to inform you of the fact that it has been a close vote. That those who know you well enough did not see any reason to deny their permission.” Terral bows his head ever so slowly, his eyes intent on her, alive with what they both know he isn't saying. _Because they knew you would have gone in any event._ “Myself included.”

Katrina holds his gaze, unwavering. Her throat so tight with gratitude that for the longest time, she doesn't find her voice.

“Thank you, Terral,” she says eventually, far more softly than she should, as though that would keep him from picking up the faint flutter of emotion she simply can't repress. In all the years they've served together, she's never seen him smile, but if she knows his face at all, he's never come this close.

“Godspeed, I believe, is a quaint but fitting human sendoff. May your return be a full success. I am awaiting your report.”

//

Katrina positions herself right in front of the screen, where everyone can have a good look at her. Straight and tall, no room for doubts. She lets her gaze pass over each of her crew, a brief reassurance for every single one of them.

"Black alert."

The computer echoes her command, the warble of the alarm a rush of adrenaline that only serves to strengthen her resolve.

“Mr. Stamets?”

“At your service, Admiral.” She ignores the quiver of stress in his voice, the chill of apprehension that clings to all of them.

“Go.”

For a moment, _Discovery_ goes completely still, then shakes herself, a shiver that runs along the length of her hull.

They're gone, off the charts, neither here nor there, until they are, an anomaly in another space, strangers coming not quite home.

All along the hallways, the lights flicker and buzz.

The spore drive, thrumming at maximum capacity, shuts down without so much as a sound, a rush of silence in its wake, a weight that settles deeply throughout the ship.

Around Katrina, the bridge goes dark.


	7. blow a kiss, fire a gun

_Blackness thick as syrup swallows her up, its edges undefined, reaching out to infinity._

_At its center, there is no bearing, neither up nor down, not a sense of now or then._

_Space folds in around her, slicks itself along the skin of her skull, a sluggish crawl of pressure across the curve of her bones._

_Amid the tide of pain, Katrina forces herself to open her eyes._

_What a warm welcome to the wrong side of the universe._

//

In a glare of light the bridge comes back to life, systems powering up one at a time.

Katrina clutches at the edge of the helm, swallowing past that bitter taste in her mouth, her stomach heaving with roils of nausea.

Not a trip she's prepared to take again anytime soon.

Except to take them all safely back home, of course.

She squints about her, steadier with each deep breath she takes. All around her pale faces, her crew swaying on their feet, thoroughly disjointed.

In dire need of a staunch example.

Katrina lets go, her voice firm and sure as she speaks. Meant to take them along with her calm.

“Status report.”

Predictably, Burnham is among the first to recover.

"All systems coming back online."

"What happened?"

"The immensity of the power drain seems to have triggered a total shutdown. We're still completing the reboot cycle. Scans indicate--” Behind her console, Burnham frowns. “This is odd. I can't seem to access certain areas of the ship. The main engine room. Sickbay. Transporters. The aft area of deck five."

The holding cells.

It doesn't even take Katrina's order; Tyler merely looks at her, his face alive with comprehension.

"Go," she says, to make it official. Tyler nods, grim and sharp.

"Yes, ma--"

Before their eyes, he disappears in bows and swirls of brilliant light. Beamed right out of their midst.

Oh, _fuck_.

Katrina's heart doesn't sink, it drops at a million miles per second. Too fast to ever be caught.

“Burnham, where did he go? Can you locate--”

The turbolift opens with barely a sound, but isn't one among them who doesn't whip around instantly.

They catch sight of Tilly first, the lines of her body unnaturally taut and stiff with tension as she's being marched forward, a phaser to her head.

Behind her, Gabriel Lorca, captain by habit alone, master of his universe.

His smile ablaze with the certainty of his position.

Everything moving according to his plan.

“Welcome to my side of things.”

He navigates Tilly to the center of the bridge, non too gentle about forcing her to a stop. A small shimmer of satisfaction flits about his mouth as she gasps under his handling.

“Let her go,” Katrina says, her voice rich with the full weight of her command. Brooking no argument.

Lorca huffs out a laugh.

“Gotta love your spirit, darling,” he says, his voice soft with amusement. "I'll have that knife of yours, if you please. And also if you don't."

"I don't have it on me."

He can have all the spirit he likes.

"Sure about that?" Tilly squeals as he tightens his grip on her, her face white with the rush of pain. Katrina clenches her fist in sympathy. This is on her, and Tilly can't be made to pay for the small advantage of facing him armed.

The blade clatters across the floor, coming to rest right in front of his feet. Lorca's smile is sharp with danger as he shushes his struggling captive. "Easy there. You are entirely safe."

He turns his eyes back on Katrina, his gaze heavy on her as he goes on, all soft and persuasive. “See? You'll find it quite easy to keep me pleased.”

Talking to her as though they're all alone.

It's disturbing.

It's also the best chance she might get.

Keep your enemies closer.

She watches as he pushes Tilly forward, but before Katrina can even lift her hands to halt her stumble, Lorca beats her to it. "Computer, activate protocol Lorca Alpha Two. Energize."

And Tilly, too, disappears in a pyre of light.

"Tilly!" Burnham cries out, her hands tight on the edges of her console. Not a trace of Vulcan calm left to her face.

Lorca bends to pick up the knife, then half-turns his head to look at her. His attention never quite wavering from the rest of them.

"There's no reason for concern. Kit will show her the utmost hospitality. She's always had a soft spot for redheads.”

 _God_ , Tilly.

Katrina has never felt more at a loss. Helpless in the face of his schemes. Played so utterly by his careful planning.

He's managed to make coming back from the dead seem like a walk in the park.

“Where did you send her?”

“Oh, I'll show you in a little while, don't you have a worry about it.”

Yeah, not a worry at all.

“Tell me what you want.” Her voice could pass for soft and pleading, at least with him. There must be _some_ room for her to negotiate. Because if there isn't, she's taken them all to their certain death.

A slow one, if she's any judge.

Lorca comes over to her leisurely, makes a show of his prowl, a pensive look on his face. A gleam of curiosity.

“Well, since you're asking so nicely.” He jerks his chin at Airiam. “After completing our jump, the autopilot has brought us into orbit of the planet I chose as our destination. Put it on screen.”

With a surreptitious nod, Katrina affirms his order.

The edges of the screen remain dark with the blackness of space; in its middle, sick in hues of gray and brown, spins the dying echo of the place most of them call home. Its atmosphere smudged with gigantic swirls of dust, storms the size of entire countries.

“Is that... Earth?” Even Saru sounds breathless, the cluck of his tongue harsh and sharp in the silence that hangs thickly on the bridge.

“What's left of it.” Lorca's face looks as torn by storms as the planet he hails from. "The Klingons almost destroyed us. They killed our best, laid waste to our home. Took away our families. Everything we had. But we're about to return the favor. With _Discovery's_ help, we will wipe them out. Every single one of them. Until nothing's left. Not a trace ever to be found of them."

Katrina stares at him, appalled by the depth of his madness. "You're talking genocide."

"I'm talking _justice_." Lorca has a rage of his own, cold and consuming, his voice flat and hard with it. He reins himself in, a visible effort, and gives her a brittle smile. “If you're about ready to leave.”

Just when Katrina thought the situation couldn't spin any further out of control.

“Absolutely not. I will not leave this ship.”

“Wasn't an invitation so much, I'm afraid. There are things I want you to see. People to meet.” His hand finds her arm, his grip strong, but not painful. That will only happen with reason, Katrina is sure. For now, she doesn't see sense in giving him any.

For now, she must think of her crew.

“Listen up, everyone, these are the ground rules for your continued survival.” Lorca swings his phaser in a wide berth, all eyes on him. “I'm leaving with three guests from among your ranks. Behave, and they will be right as rain. Furthermore, I've taken the liberty of making a few adjustments to the ship's systems. Who would have thought our little run-in with Mudd would come in so handy after all. The computer won't take any orders unless they're confirmed by me. I know you will work hard at reversing my handiwork while I'm away, so I've taken another precaution to keep you all in line. Life support is hard-coded to shut down within a specified amount of time, should I not send a signal at irregular intervals. Do anything rash, like leaving orbit, or power up the transporters, and I will learn of it. And the signal will stop. Understood?”

“As usual, you have made yourself very clear.” Saru has stepped up, proudly showing off his full height. “Your callousness doesn't cease to amaze.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet, Mr. Saru. I'm only just beginning.” In his grip, Katrina suppresses a shiver, barely so. He leans close, his mouth to her ear. “Any parting words, honey?”

 _Fuck you_ rides on the very tip of her tongue, but that won't get her anywhere, so she swallows it down. Content to have the sentiment blaze in her eyes.

She turns to her crew, struggling for calm.

"Mr. Saru, I trust you to keep this crew safe at all costs. Burnham. Permission to color outside the lines."

Lorca's fingers dig into her arm as he pulls her close, and the bridge fades out in a rush of light.

//

The air is a rasp of heat and dust in her lungs, a burn at the back of her throat that no amount of coughing can appease.

“Here.” Lorca hands her a piece of cloth that she presses tightly over her mouth and nose. Minimal relief. He has to shout to make himself heard over the howling cut of the storm. “It'll get better inside. I wanted you to see.”

He leads her across a wide open space, cracked concrete beneath her feet, strewn with rock and rubble. Edged with hollowed-out buildings, torn off roofs, blasted windows. Blackened beams, half-molten and bent out of shape, broken fingers gripping for the overcast sky.

Not a living thing in sight.

A sturdy building, its contours buried almost completely under a landslide of dust and debris, seems to be their destination. Lorca stops by the heavy-looking door, brushing his sleeve over the dusty pad set into its frame.

The scan of his palm complete, an elevator rumbles to life somewhere deep beneath them. Katrina, shaken by a terrible bout of coughing, clutches at the door, her fingers slipping uselessly. Lorca steps close, his chest shielding her face from the wind.

A decent human being. Almost.

She slips through the door as soon as it opens, glad to escape from his proximity. There's something about it she finds suffocating, more so even than the bite of the post-apocalyptic storm.

He leans with his back against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his face blank. Forbidding.

Not so much happy to be home, then.

“Tilly and Tyler. Let them go. My life's more than enough leverage for you to keep my crew under control.” The words come out as a rasp, too much of a strain on her battered voice.

They come to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a long, harshly lit hallway with another set of doors at its end.

“I don't think so. Tilly's meant as a gift; Kit loves a bit of variety. As for Tyler... His life isn't worth all that much anymore.” He takes a hold of her wrist, then slides his fingers lightly up the length of her arm. “Yours on the other hand. Yours is entirely more precious to me.”

There's something in his touch, a hesitancy, that Katrina can't quite place. Like there's something he means to say, but doesn't quite know how.

She doesn't even want to take a guess at what it might be.

The walls are smooth and dark, cut right out of the bedrock. They must be deep, hidden true and well from the face of the earth.

Another scanner secures the doors at the end of the hallway; beyond lies a room unlike anything Katrina has ever seen.

A dome of rock, high and vast, rows and rows of mirrors fastened to the length of its walls.

“Go ahead. Have a look. No need to be shy. None of them can see you.”

Lorca waves his hand at the nearest panes of glass.

Katrina walks past with her breath held tightly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

They're windows, every last one of them.

With people behind. Civilians. Starfleet. Vulcans. Families. Klingons.

Room after room, some filled with everyday life.

Some filled with secrets.

“What is this place?”

Feeble as it is, her voice echoes throughout the room, hollow and high. A thousand questions thrown right back at her.

Lorca shrugs. “What's left of us. The heart of it all. When the Klingons attacked, when we realized how ruthless they were, we began to look for a solution. We turned to you. We built this place. And then we found the spore drive. Like you, we knew it would turn the tide of the war. All we had to do was go and get it.”

“This, all this, just to get the _Discovery_?”

Try as she might, she can't even begin to grasp the scope of it all.

The all-encompassing breach of their privacy.

Not a single secret safe.

Not as long as this place exists.

“Not 'just'. But, yes, the _Discovery_ is our best hope. The war to end all wars. Our chance to rebuild. And rise again.”

“For how long has this been going on?”

 _On, on, on_ , the echoes ask from all over the walls.

Another shrug. “It's not important now, is it. Three, four years perhaps. Before, we've limited ourselves to glimpses. Kept a lookout for people who seemed promising. People with access.”

Katrina staggers under the weight of his words; he takes hold of her arm again, the pull of his fingers almost gentle.

“Come. There's something else I want you to see. That we do.”

A small niche to their left leads into another corridor, smaller than the one before. Longer, too, with many bends, doors branching off on either side. The air is cooler here, a chill almost, and Katrina welcomes it on the numbness of her skin.

The door he stops at seems inconspicuous, exactly the same as all the others. With the exception of the scanner set into the wall next to it. He opens it for her, then motions for her to precede him.

Inside, the room is divided into two spaces. The anteroom right behind the door, clearly designed as some kind of vestibule. It ends in a see-through wall, glass perhaps, or a force-field of sorts, as clear as air.

Behind that, oblivious of their visitors, a man on a chair, a woman hovering over him, her back to Katrina.

The woman a vision in black and fur, the lines and angles of her body so very familiar as to make Katrina's stomach heave with it.

Behind the slow sway of her shoulder, the man's face comes into view, his eyes screwed shut, a look of torment and despair so profound on his face that Katrina wails with it.

Her worst nightmare couldn't have prepared her for the sight.

"Gabriel."

Next to her, Lorca puts his mouth to her ear, his breathing ragged. “Welcome home, Katrina.”


	8. see that demon in the night

_The treetops move in gentle strokes across the sky, a languid to and fro as they sway in the faint, sweetly-scented breeze. Katrina sighs, pleasantly warm where she's lying on a bed of grass, lazy under a glow of early summer sunshine. Quite ready to doze off, if not for Gabriel's constant attention, the tender brush of his mouth on her shoulder, the light play of his fingers in her hair._

_She squints when he stops, propped up on an elbow, the most curious expression on his face. A feint of indifference, when his eyes are so intent on hers._

_“Hensley's offered me that post again. The teaching spot at the Academy. Advanced tactics, senior year,” he says._

_“Doesn't he ever learn,” Katrina murmurs, arching just so in the hopes of drawing his attention back to her now neglected shoulder._

_“I took him up on it.”_

_“You what?”_

_They almost butt noses as Katrina raises herself to a half-sitting position. Surely she must have heard wrong. Gabriel gives a small shrug, almost shy under her scrutiny, a warmth in his eyes, a gleam of longing that up until now, she's only ever seen on the occasion of their parting, another brief interlude gone by too fast, a trace of regret lurking in the corner of his smile._

_“Felt like the right time to do it.”_

_“What about going out there? Deep space exploration? Those grand plans of yours?”_

_“I've been dreaming of other things lately.” Katrina blinks, thrown by the huskiness of his voice, the depth of emotion he isn't bothering to hide. “I know you've been toying with the idea to return to Earth for a while. Maybe practice again.”_

_He takes a breath, takes her hand in his. She doesn't think she's ever seen him this serious. This hopeful._

_"Let's have a shot at it. You and I."_

_If there's any room for doubt, for even the smallest hesitation, Katrina has no idea where to find it._

_It's probably drowned in the same rush of happiness that's taken her breath away, that's wild and glad and perfect in the steady thrum of her heart._

_She lets herself sink back into the grass, the warm tickle of it against her skin, pulling him with her, side by side, chest to chest, his kiss no more than a breath away, if she chooses to take it._

_“Yes. Let's,” she agrees, grinning, having that kiss, an infinity of it, no longer lazy, but hungry for the next day, and the one after that. And any that will follow. Ready to move forward. Take that leap with him._

_With his smile so wide, so warm, it's the easiest thing in the world to do._

//

Katrina flies at the barrier, her fists pounding on what turns out to be glass, the same material those mirror-windows back in the dome had been made of.

“Gabriel!”

As is his wont, Lorca follows her, stepping too close, a solid presence in her back.

"They can't hear. Or see. It's strictly one way. Wouldn't want anything to distract them."

But apparently, sound is transmitted to this side of the room. Katrina's fists unfurl as she hears herself speak, a perfect mimicry of her own voice, down to the last inflection.

"Keep your eyes closed, I know you want to. There you go. Such a good boy." And then that _woman_ kisses Gabriel, all light and slow, the trail of her fingers gentle on his face, a twisted show of tenderness, a perversion of everything Katrina and him have ever shared.

_Oh, Gabriel._

There is no way she can endure his expression, the hopelessness of it as he succumbs to his fate, slack and unresponsive in the clutch of this creature. For the umpteenth time, undoubtedly, and each time one too many.

And then followed by another.

With a hand clasped over her mouth, Katrina contains her sob.

Lorca speaks in her ear, low and sweet like this isn't the very worst thing she could ever imagine, to have to watch, impotently, as Gabriel is submitted to that woman's every whim. To the cruelty of her touch, when he already looks so broken. "Told you, she's fond of her playthings."

"Let's play the game you like so much. I might even let you call me Katrina again."

As if something like this could ever, _ever_ be a game.

Another kiss, this one harder than before, more demanding, and Gabriel gasps under the onslaught of her mouth, the nip of her teeth at his lips. That woman, that other her, slides onto his lap; Gabriel moves his hands to her hips, staying them there, his expression devoid of emotion now, his eyes still closed. An almost peaceful look settling on his face, and Katrina wonders if maybe, somehow, he's found some way to detach himself, to stay sane, and strong, even as that _cunt_ is working at taking these very things away from him.

She's never hoped for anything so much in her entire life.

She slumps against the wall, all fight gone out of her.

How can she even fight something like this?

Over the wet, sucking sound of those vile kisses beyond the barrier, Katrina can hear Lorca breathe behind her, ragged and harsh, probably as excited by the sight as she is appalled by it.

He's close, too close, and all she wants is for him to be gone. To leave her alone, give her room to breathe, to think, to somehow find a way out of all of this.

To make it stop.

Make it all stop.

She spins around, turns her back on Gabriel and that thing, that sadist bitch sprawled over him like a foul disease. The sudden change of her position has practically brought her into Lorca's arms, so near to him their chests are almost touching. She can't bring herself to care, not with those sounds ringing in her ears, her mind's eye conjuring up image after image to go with them.

"Make her stop. I'm begging you. Please, make her stop. Please." A whisper is all she can manage, and even that is shaking with a terrible tremble.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Up this close, Lorca's voice, low and intimate, is a hum that reverberates through her like an unwanted touch. “Besides, no one could.”

"Why are you showing me this? Did she ask you to?"

He runs his fingers up her arm, that same strange gesture from before. Not for comfort; not for her benefit at all. For his alone, for the simple pleasure of touching her, an uninvited connection, an invasion not at all unlike what she's just been witness to on the other side of this room. With no space left for her to withdraw, Katrina doesn't put a stop to it.

"There's so very few of us left. We'll let you see him. Nurture him. In exchange for... your cooperation."

She can't even wrap her mind around the atrocity of his suggestion; she just stands, with her eyes closed, too stunned to move or even breathe.

His thumb doing light circles on her upper arm, like he means to gentle her. Or test her resolve.

With everything she's learned so far, it's probably both.

“Take me out of here. Please. I need to think.”

If only she doesn't have to listen to any of this anymore.

//

The holding area is through another set of corridors, with more heavily secured doors to close it off. There are guards, too, the first denizens of this facility Katrina has seen since they arrived. They look haggard, the lot of them, clad in simple black uniforms, armed with strange and unfamiliar weapons. Soldiers, fighting the lost war Lorca is so bent on somehow winning.

With a single ship at his disposal.

Katrina would scoff at the idea, laugh at the madness of it all, but as it is, she's glad of the walk, of keeping herself together, of the distance she can put between herself and that display of abject horror, still so very much alive in her mind.

Even now, she can't breathe properly, her chest too tight with guilt, that terrible, nagging feeling of having left Gabriel behind.

In the hands of that woman, exposed and defenseless.

Just so that she wouldn't have to stand a second longer of it.

Her heart lifts when she catches sight of Tyler and Tilly, in separate cells each, for all appearances none the worse for wear. Tyler, sat in a crouch on the ground, jumps to his feet at her arrival; Tilly doesn't stir, pale and prone in a corner of her cell, her red hair fanned out around her head, a pool of silk and blood.

“Tyler, are you all right?”

“Best as could be under the circumstances, Admiral. Tilly's out cold. Guards knocked her out when she freaked. She's breathing; as far as I can tell, she's okay.”

“Let them go,” Katrina says, glad of the distraction, a purpose to keep her from thinking too much. “I might count it in your favor when it comes to that... cooperation you seek.”

It's not like she can't lie through her teeth, as well. Anything to get her crew out of this hell.

Lorca doesn't even deem her suggestion with an answer; he marches her to the cell next to Tyler's, as of yet empty. He stops her with his hands on her shoulders, then nudges her feet apart with one of his own.

“I'm afraid I will have to pat you down. What with your tendency to keep concealed knives about you.”

If only he didn't sound so excited about it. Katrina huffs.

“Oh, by all means. But rest assured, if I did still have a knife, you would have been the first to know.”

He takes his time about it, and Katrina doesn't fool herself for a second that he merely means to be thorough.

“Let my crew go,” she tries again, determined not to let herself get upset by the brush of his hands. Focus on what's important, instead.

Lorca is a towering presence behind her, his hands light on her arms. She can hear him take a breath, deep and slow, then he draws her in, her back to his chest, the familiar solid warmth of it like a slap. A sharp reminder of the man she was forced to left behind.

"You're soft where she's hard. I could get used to that. Already have. It's not like Kit would mind,” he murmurs, curling his fingers into her, bold and possessive.

"You're not _him_." She pushes at his hands, angered by his presumptuousness. The sheer gall of him.

"You could learn to appreciate the difference."

"I couldn't. Not ever." Katrina doesn't writhe in his embrace like she wants to, keeping herself still instead, composed. Refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"You'd be amazed, the things people will be made to consider. Given some time. The right kind of incentive."

Too close. Much, much too close again. Swamping her.

His voice, his scent, the strong curl of his arms around her too much like Gabriel's.

"Let go. Let me go."

“I don't think so, Kat. Not for a long while yet.”

"Hey! Keep your hands off her, asshole."

In his cell, Tyler has jumped forward, rattling at the bars that hold him in. The tension in Lorca's body behind hers changes, his hands tightening with rising anger, a sense of imminent danger. Not for her so much, Katrina is sure, but Tyler will easily fall victim to the brunt of Lorca's aggression. Better to keep him out of this. Better to play this her own way.

"Stand down, Lieutenant. I've got this."

Behind her, Lorca relaxes, just by an increment, his grip growing lighter again. Appeased by her intervention, her attention exclusively on him again.

"Do you then, Katrina? Seems more like I've got you."

That intimate tone, meant to seduce, a low hum in her ear, only serves to enrage her.

Good. She can make use of that.

She bends her head, dips her chin to talk to him around the curve of her shoulder.

"Sooner or later I'll have my knife back, I swear that I will, and you will bleed for hours before death comes for you. Days, if I really set my mind to it. And for you, I will."

"Hm, I already love your bark. Can't wait to see more of your bite, my darling." She does writhe in his grip, all composure forgotten, desperate to break away. Lorca tightens his hands on her, breathing harshly into her ear. "I could fuck you right now, I'm so hard for you. Wouldn't even mind the audience."

Bile rises in her throat, an acrid, bitter burn. She swallows it back down to the white-hot pit of her stomach.

"I'd rather die."

He drags the flat of the knife along the curve of her hip, slow and suggestive, the angry swell of his hard-on pressed tightly against her ass.

"I don't think you would. Not as long as _he_ is still alive. Perhaps a small death to begin with, sweetheart?"

She clenches her fists, every muscle in her body strung taut with rage.

She isn't going to let him touch her again.

If that means she'll have to take the sting of that blade, it's not even a choice.

When it comes to him, she has an endless supply of defiance to draw from.

It's one of the things that, for all his brilliance, he can't seem to understand about her.

Doesn't change the fact that her opposition only serves to further arouse him. That all her aggression is nothing but some twisted form of foreplay to him.

Because that's how things must be with him and the other her.

It's probably the only kind of love he's ever known. If that term even applies to whatever sick and filthy bond it is they seem to share.

Perhaps giving in will do the trick.

His lust a perfect point of leverage.

Against all instinct, she lets go of her tension, one lengthy exhale to let it ride out on, the curve of her body going slack and soft against his. He grunts, a sound of pure triumph, his breath hot on her neck as he reels her in, his hands greedy on her hips.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, his voice rough around the words, hoarse with his hunger, his hips rolling into her, one long drawl of a thrust. His mouth suckling a wet line of heat along the side of her neck.

His attention wholly occupied, his guard all the way down.

He never expects the crush of her elbow into the softness of his gut, nor the subsequent blow of her fist to his face.

She's almost thrown by the surprise in his expression, that stunned look of confusion, like maybe he thought she could somehow want this, want him, just because he happens to look and smell and sound like the man she's loved for so long that she hardly remembers a time when she didn't.

He's staggered backwards by no more than two steps, a split in his lip spilling a trail of blood down his face, a slow trickle that fills her with the most vicious kind of satisfaction.

“Perhaps we should try again,” he says, and for a second she thinks he's going to close in on her, come at her with renewed purpose. She gasps at the thought and stumbles back, into the cell and away from him. Her retreat, so obvious an attempt at escaping him, makes him smile, the slow curl of his mouth sick with promise.

But he simply closes the bars, the lock clicking shut with a small, but very definite sound.

“Later then,” he says. “Looking forward to it very much.”

“What's later?”

Katrina almost recoils at the sound of that voice – _her_ voice, at a low drawl, with a catch of curiosity at its very end. _She_ comes closer with a sway in her hips, a sleek black dress clinging to her, a fur coat, black as coal, sweeping out behind her.

Her approach kindling a whole new kind of hunger in Gabriel's eyes.

“Playtime,” he says, half-turning to look at her. "Hello, Kitten. Miss me?"

"Hm, I almost got bored without you." She leans into him, eyes on his mouth, the look on her face suddenly intent. "Look at you. All that blood on your face. Come here."

He takes a sharp breath as she wipes her fingers through the smear of red on his lips and chin, then groans when she slips them into his mouth, to have him suck the blood right off. Which he does with relish, moaning for her, moving in for a kiss, her hand clasped tightly around his chin, keeping him angled for her pleasure.

Lorca's hands move lightly on her hips, his fingers flexing like he means to hold on but doesn't quite dare until she allows it.

Owned like a toy. Treasured and cared for, yes, but still a _thing_ at the end of the day. To be discarded at a whim.

Not a shadow of a doubt about who's calling the shots here.

Kit takes her sweet time about their reunion, undulating with obvious pleasure in his embrace.

A sense of threat about her, the ease of her pose barely hiding the underlying sense of tension, a part of her always poised for attack.

A sleeping serpent, set to strike.

The empress to his king.

When they break apart at long last, Lorca wipes at his lips, his gaze still locked on Kit's mouth. Quite obviously eager to please her.

If she chooses to let him.

It's only now that Kit seems to become aware of Katrina, a look of interest passing over her face before it turns pensive, appraising. Katrina's skin crawls under the focus of her attention. Kit steps close, the better to inspect her other self.

"Ooh. You're drab." She taps her nails at one of the bars, as though to draw Katrina's attention. They're much longer than Katrina keeps hers. It's a small detail she can safely handle, quite unlike everything else. "Will you look at that? It's like a bad hair day. But all over."

And with that, she seems to have lost all interest again, Katrina's presence no more than an amusing anecdote, a trifle to be shared over dinner. She allows Lorca to slip an arm about her, reel her close, the press of his mouth to the side of her neck short, but insistent.

"Come now. Let's have a proper hello."

In her cell, Katrina sinks onto her haunches, shaking.

//

There's no telling how much time has passed when Kit returns, the coat gone, the dress replaced with a more intricate version of the guards' black uniforms.

No more sway, but a very straightforward strut in its stead, all purpose and no bullshit.

The lights in the holding area have been dimmed to a muted glow, whether in an attempt to reflect the current time of day up on the surface or as a means of disheartening the prisoners, Katrina has no idea.

In this place, it's likely the latter.

She feels calmer now, the memory of Gabriel pushed to furthest edge of her mind, where it won't interfere, keep her from finding some way out of this.

Where it can serve as the most ferocious incentive to help her escape, and free them all.

“Where's your boyfriend?”

It's a little easier to face Kit like this, in the dark, with neither Gabriel around to distort her demeanor.

A chance for Katrina to get a good, clear read on her.

Find her tells.

Learn all she can.

"Which one?” Kit asks, sweetly, and the sting of it is very well-aimed, Katrina has to admit. Kit smiles with the knowledge. “Dead asleep. You know how they are when they're all fucked out.”

Gabriel on that chair, suddenly not so nicely stowed away at the back of her mind anymore, and Katrina swallows thickly with the sick rush of memory.

Kit gives another smile, small and knowing. "You've made an impression on him. I came to see why. Get to know you a little bit." The knife slips from her sleeve, the point tipped in blood. Probably Lorca's. "Hi, Katrina."

Katrina squares her shoulders.

Just let that bitch come at her.

She's more than ready.


	9. time to stop and play your games

For all intents and purposes, Tyler is fast asleep on the narrow cot fastened to one of the walls, folded awkwardly on his side, one arm dangling over the edge, all relaxed in his rest. Tilly sits with her back to the wall, her arms resting on her knees, the weight of her head couched in that makeshift cradle, the dark smear of a bruise shimmering like a shadow under the porcelain of her skin, stark and vivid on the side of her face even in the near dark.

Kit moves with a slow kind of grace, a pour of danger edging its way toward Katrina.

The door of the cell ever so slightly ajar behind her.

So sure of herself.

Certain of Katrina being the weaker one.

It's exactly the kind of mistake Katrina has been hoping for her to make.

“That's a fine little knife you've brought with you,” Kit says, pressing ever closer, the blade held out almost leisurely in front of her. Katrina retreats, step by step, like she's meant to, until her back hits the cold metal bars of her cell. Nowhere to go but right into that edge of metal between them. “I'm sure Gabriel will like it. Even more than my one did.”

The flare of her fury isn't lost on Kit, if the twitch of her lips into an almost smile is any indication.

“You won't touch him again.” An animal snarl that, not too long ago, Katrina wouldn't have thought herself capable of.

“Is that a threat?”

“No. It's a promise.”

“Hm.” Kit leans in, one hand threading through Katrina's hair, holding tight. “I've got a promise for you, too. I'm going to make this last. Be really thorough with you. Let's do a little soul-searching, you and I, shall we?”

Katrina gasps, then hisses as the tip of the blade sinks into her skin, right through the layers of her uniform, one long, languid cut along the length of her side.

The warm well of blood almost pleasant over the sharp bite of pain.

She pants around the sudden rush of words in her mouth, her whisper too low, too garbled to be understood.

“What's that?” Kit moves even closer, hungry to hear, the edge of the knife still sunk in Katrina's flesh.

A rush of endorphins, her body's answer to Kit's gift of pain, and she's shaking with it, sweating, her chest tight, an absurd peal of laughter stuck somewhere in her throat.

She takes a breath, a shallow gulp of air, willing her voice to carry through the dark.

"It's something Gabriel taught me. Don't let your guard down. Take a hit if you must. And never, ever show your hand before you're ready."

From inside his cell, Tyler makes a lunge for Kit; it doesn't matter that he couldn't ever hope to reach her.

What matters is that she turns her head toward the noise, the unexpected blur of motion at the edge of her vision.

Katrina doesn't waste a second, her pain momentarily swept away in a tide of adrenaline.

The heel of her hand crashes into Kit's nose with a satisfying crunch, bone to bone. Another blow, aimed lower, lands right against her solar plexus, with enough force to provoke the reaction Katrina has aimed for.

Kit sags forward into her arms, her body slack with the sudden lack of tension, her head lolling to the side as unconsciousness washes over her.

The sound of the knife hitting the ground the loudest they've been during all of this.

The soldier guarding the doors at the far end of the room doesn't even turn his head.

The drop of a knife apparently nothing unusual during a friendly conversation between Kit and one of her guests.

“Are you all right?” Tilly's voice is a breathless whisper, tight with anxiety.

Katrina grunts as she lays Kit out on the ground, then starts to strip off her uniform. She takes the time to wipe off the knife, and slip it back to where she can safely access it if the need should arise.

“Perfectly.” No need to bother her with fine detail, like the steady weep of blood from the slash in her side. Superficial enough as to not become too much of a hindrance. She uses her tank top as a makeshift dressing under the tight fit of Kit's uniform, baring her teeth at the persistent burn of pressure over the wound. Tyler catches her eyes, his mouth half open like he means to say something. Katrina shakes her head, very slightly so, for him alone to see.

Don't mention it.

He gives a nod, a sharp little jerk of his head, before he slips his jacket off, tearing off strips of fabric from the hem up. "Here, tie her up. Better gag her, too. We don't want her to scream bloody murder when she wakes up."

Katrina isn't sure the act should give her as much pleasure as it does.

With Kit's head heavy and limp on her shoulder, Katrina checks for a pulse and regular breathing before she rises, a sleek black shadow in the dark of the cell.

She can be anything she likes, as long as she's certain about it, no hesitation, her dominance complete and untouchable, fully sacrosanct.

An edge to her smile, a knife up her sleeve.

Each gesture, each word, a despot through and through.

An absolute of dread.

“Sit tight. Stick to the plan. I'll be back for you soon. And then we'll get out of here.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Now for Gabriel.

The first one on her list.

//

"You."

The man, no visible insignia on his uniform to denote any sort of rank, flinches at the snap of her voice, then cowers, a curl of fear rounding his back and shoulders. Nothing much in the way of protection, unless she counts his show of instant submission.

"Ma'am."

"You will accompany me back to my quarters. Lead the way."

He hurries to comply, not a thought of questioning her somewhat odd request. Total, blind obedience.

What a charmer her counterpart must be. Employing the charms of abject terror.

It's a longer way than she expected.

More corridors, more doors.

Katrina feels no desire to know what's behind any of them. She puts her focus on memorizing the way. A safe passage through this maze of horrors.

Kit's quarters hide behind the corner of a dimly lit hallway, broader and lower than any she's seen so far. Hidden in the heart of this place, quite safe from attack.

Until now.

She holds out the flat of her palm.

“Your sidearm.”

It's obvious he doesn't want to part with his weapon, but he obliges without too much of a hesitation. Just a little longer, and she would have been forced to react.

Kit probably doesn't take well to not having her orders followed immediately.

“Guard the door. Don't interrupt. Don't let anyone through.”

“Ma'am.”

The door slides open silently, the room behind still and even darker than the holding area. The darkness isn't tempting, not with the certainty of Lorca somewhere inside.

She finds him on the bed, asleep on his back, naked among a tangle of sheets and fur.

A pattern of cuts across his chest, all of them shallow, precise and pristine.

Not a drop of blood to be seen.

Ligature marks on his wrists.

Which, well. To each their own.

Consensual intimacy doesn't seem to be too much of an issue with them.

If only they'd kept things between themselves.

She kneels on the bed, close to his chest, her knife at his throat, her fist in his hair. Jerking him awake.

He is fooled for all of a few seconds; she can tell the exact moment he _knows_ , the tension flowing from his body, something like a smile curling the side of his mouth.

He doesn't even seem too surprised.

“I can smell blood on you. Did you have a nice chat?”

If he thinks she doesn't see the slow flex of his arms, the tightening of his shoulders as he readies himself to make a lunge at her, he's sadly mistaken.

“Don't you even dare think about moving. I haven't got a single reason left to keep you alive.”

“And yet, here I am.”

The edge to his voice could be residue from sleep, or overuse during his exertions with Kit.

It could very well be a man prepared to face any danger to save his life.

“I want you to give me your codes for the _Discovery_. The signal you've rigged life support with.”

His laughter makes her knife dance on the line of his throat, a danger he seems wholly oblivious to.

"Why would I help you?"

"Because I've got a knife to your throat. Because I think that somewhere deep down, you're still capable of caring. You know she doesn't love you. She's keeping you. Same as my version of you. You're no less of a plaything than him. That glorious plan of yours, it's nothing but madness. One ship against the entirety of the Klingon Empire? Not even _Discovery_ can do that. Isn't a mind brilliant enough on either side of our universe to pull that off. And I think that you know. That you do her bidding because that's what you've always done. Because you've taught yourself to think that she cares about you. She doesn't. That woman out there? She doesn't feel a thing but lust in the face of terror and pain. And that's all you're ever going to get from her."

Even in the dark, the hard glint of his eyes is impressive.

"And you think that I don't know? That I give a fuck anymore? There's nothing left to lose here. But everything to win. And I won't let anyone stop me. Least of all you."

He's a lost case, no longer to be touched by logic, if ever he really was to begin with.

Someone more forgiving than Katrina might even feel sorry for him.

As it is, she has nothing but vindictiveness to show for herself, and righteously at that. Isn't a soul in this world who could convince her otherwise.

Don't let it be said she didn't try.

"Usually, the Prime Directive forbids me to interfere. Take an influence on this conflict of yours in any way. But this time, I've been ordered to. Officially asked to put a stop to your dealings if I can. And I can. I will, with greatest pleasure. That's what _I_ wanted _you_ to know."

The threat of her blade no longer enough to keep him contained, he comes alive in a surge of tension, a captive no more.

It's nothing less than Katrina expected.

The butt of her knife hits him square in the jaw, long before he can make any move against her. He slumps back under the drag of his own weight, much in the same position she found him in.

She clutches at her side, a small wail of pain escaping in between harsh pants of breath. There's only so much left she can take.

There's nothing she can do about the trembles that shake her, so she lets them run their course, breathing through the strain.

Her eyes fixed on one of the walls, anywhere but on that face half-hidden in the pillow.

Some small part of her still wanting to reach out, even though she knows he isn't _him_.

He's the one who made her sleep with him under a pretense.

Who pushed himself on her against her will.

Who refused the chance to redeem himself.

A kindling of anger strengthens her, helps her raise herself from the bed, straighten herself out.

She has the other Gabriel to think of.

Hers.

The one she's here for. All the way across the universe.

Outside, the guard is staring straight ahead, busy being as disinterested as he can possibly be, his posture stiff and rigid with it.

Kit's business ostensibly none of his own.

“Lock Lorca up with our prisoners from the other side. I'm fed up with his insolence. I'll see to his punishment when I'm done with his counterpart.”

The guard swallows, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Yes, ma'am.”

//

Lights on, and Kit's quarters are a sight to behold.

The huge bed with its wealth of fur and silk just the beginning of it.

The well assorted collection of blades, straps, and things Katrina doesn't even have a name for the nauseating end.

Not to mention the picture on one of the walls.

A mural of blood and pain.

The sight very nearly makes her retch.

How anyone could put something like this up for pleasure is so far beyond her she can't even wrap her mind around the idea.

She busies herself searching the place instead, all matter-of-fact. Mind on the mission.

Lorca's transponder sits on a small table next to the bed; it stands to reason he would keep it nearby. Katrina pockets the small device for Tilly to have a look at later.

A comm unit sits in a corner of the room, activating readily after a scan of Katrina's palm. She sends a short sequence on the standard emergency frequency, the answer from _Discovery_ almost immediate.

Someone must have kept an ear out for them.

Katrina grins, giddy with the relief of it.

“Admiral, we've been hoping to hear from you. Are you all right?”

Saru's voice is a blessing, a benediction of comfort.

“In working order, Mr. Saru. Glad you're still out there. More than I can tell. I've got my hands on Lorca's signal. How are things on your end?”

“Looking up. Lieutenant Stamets and Burnham managed to revoke most of Lorca's protocols. They also figured out the temporal algorithm of the signal he coded into life support. We require you to send one in one standard hour, then another after four. A third one after another three. The fourth--”

“That's quite enough, Mr. Saru. I don't plan on staying here for that long. Tell me you got the transporters working again.”

“We did, but we can't get a lock on your position. We pulled the coordinates from the logs, but the place is heavily shielded. Also cloaked. Our scanners can't even pick it up.”

Katrina clutches at the console, a silent curse slipping from her lips.

“All right. Disabling the shields is off the table in the shortness of time. Unless by firing our phasers on them, perhaps.”

“I strongly advise against that, Admiral.” She can just about picture the look on his face. “With the atmosphere this unstable, and the structural integrity of your whereabouts entirely unknown, it's too much of a risk.”

“We'll come to the surface, then. Have Burnham boost the scanners to pick up on our life signs as soon as we clear the perimeter of both shields and cloak. Shouldn't be too hard. It's not like this place is crawling with life.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Katrina nods to herself, smoothing her fingers along the edge of the console.

“One more thing, Mr. Saru. Have Burnham scan for Klingon activity nearby. Monitor the frequencies they use.”

There's a small pause, the cluck of his tongue telling in the silence.

“Understood, Admiral.” She's sure he has, certain that he doesn't like it. Won't keep her from doing what she's here for. “Please be careful. May your return be safe and speedy.”

“Thank you, Saru. Cornwell out.”

Lights off, and Katrina's face is grim with resolve as she gets started on her way back.

//

Taking out the guard by the door almost comes as an afterthought, the fact that he took the time to get himself another weapon a welcome surprise. That's one for her and Tyler each.

She makes short work of freeing her crew, handing one of the procured sidearms over to Tyler.

Tilly is next, that bruise tender and colorful all over the side of her face. Katrina checks her over, careful to inspect her eyes, the integrity of her bones. The girl's holding up well, what with everything she's gone through, only a small tremor in her hands giving away her upset.

"Chin up, Cadet. You okay? Any signs of nausea? Vertigo? Seeing double?"

"I'm fine, ma'am."

And she is, her head held up high. Fit for duty.

"Good. Then you're with me. Tyler, you keep an eye on our gracious hosts. See to it no one gets too close."

"Yes, ma'am. My pleasure."

He looks it, too.

With a nod to Tilly, Katrina sets off again.

Her heart a flutter in her chest.

Something tells her she's about to face the hardest part of her plan.

//

“Do you even know where he is?”

Tilly has to hurry to keep up with her, the pain in Katrina's side not even slowing her down.

“No. But the guards do. All we have to do is find us one and have him lead us there. Easy as that.”

//

It frightens her a little, the ease with which she's felling Kit's people after she's made use of their knowledge.

Reminding herself of what they've done, what they are yet about to do, goes a long way to alleviate her guilt.

"Stay by the door. Keep an eye out for trouble. I'll be quick."

She hands Tilly her weapon, Tilly's hands steady now. Her nod a mark of certainty.

Katrina almost envies her resolve.

Her own crumbling in the face of this door. Of what she's going to find behind it.

Another dark room, a windowless cell hewn out of the rock. A slump of limbs in one of the far corners resolving itself into the shape of a man.

Gabriel.

How she gets over to him, she has no idea, her knees giving out the moment she reaches him. She sinks down next to him, not a thought about the way her hands reach out to touch him.

"It's me. It's me. Gabriel, it's me." He flinches, his face turned away into the bony bump of his shoulder. Hiding. "Oh for the love of God, it's me."

She presses her mouth to the corner of his as she gentles her fingers through his hair, her breath a warm and steady hum all over his cheek.

"Gabriel, look at me. Come on, my heart, be a love and look at me."

He obliges with a shuddering breath, the last scraps of his resolve gathered about. Out of the two of them, he's always been the braver one.

"Kat?"

Hope comes alive like an ember in his eyes, then spills over his face, helpless to be contained, and Katrina clutches at him, so consumed with rage that she has to close her eyes for fear of frightening him.

She's going to kill that woman, slow and painful, and what a shame that she will only be able to do so once.

Gabriel stirs under her hands, his face scrunched up with spite and resolve when she finally dares to look at him again.

"I won't fall for this. Not this time, not again. You're not her. Not really."

"Oh _god_ , Gabriel." She wipes at the wet trail of her tears on her cheeks, futile and useless. Tears are for later. She's going to be strong for him now. Convince him to trust her, when his trust has been so thoroughly broken. "It's all right. It's really me. I'm sorry, I hate to do this to you, but I need you to know that this is really me. I want you to think of Rachel. I know you didn't tell her that. You never talk about her. I miss her, Gabriel. And I know you do, too. Do you remember, the way you used to tease? Before we ever even saw her? Your wit, my looks, you said. And it always made me laugh."

"Rachel." A hoarse whisper, infused with such pain. His, and hers as well. One of the strongest emotions they've ever shared. She still feels it every day. His eyes slip shut, his face tired and drawn, so very exhausted. "We lost her."

"Yes, we did. But she was ours. Yours, and mine. Still is. Always."

"Katrina?"

The way he uncurls from that corner, the slight lift of his head as he looks at her, really looks, makes her heart clench so hard that she sobs with it. He frowns at the sound, but she smoothes it away, her hand ever so gentle on his brow.

"Yes. I'm here now. I came for you. I'm going to take you home. Make this all end."

"It's over?"

"Yes."

"We're leaving?"

"Yes."

He _smiles_ , tiny and warm, and Katrina is laughing, because if he can still do that, if there's even a trace of his steady good humor left, he still is hers. Still hopeful to be whole again.

"Why are you crying, Kat?"

She hasn't even noticed the fresh spring of tears, warm and wet under the touch of his fingers.

"Because you're _you_."

"It's nice seeing you, too."

It's the hardest thing not to cling to him like she wants to, not to press herself into him, close as can be. For now, she needs to keep her distance, give him room. Freedom to decide for himself.

Especially when she's dressed like this.

"Can you walk?"

He scrunches up his face, the slow fold of his body as he drags himself upright against the corner painful to watch. But the angle of his chin is determined, the pull of his arm around her shoulder sure and strong.

"Out of here? You bet."

Their progress is a sorry stumble, with Katrina's side pounding, and too much of Gabriel's weight on her. She won't be able to support him for long.

He stops shy of the door, turning into her, suddenly close, the wrap of his arms around her tight and oh so welcome. Her heart races with it, her body fitting itself into his, aching for the comfort of his embrace.

"Kat." A harsh whisper, raw with emotion.

"Yes?"

"I need you to know. I knew it was her. I always knew that, every single time. But I thought of you. Was the only way I could do it. Kept me alive. She could never be you. Only you are. And I'm very much aware." His kiss is intimate, slow, the slide of his mouth a frail and hopeful thing. "Very much, Kat."

She doesn't move away from his mouth, doesn't give in to the burn in her eyes. Doesn't unfurl her fingers from where they're clutching at the back of his shirt.

She isn't sure she can ever let go.

“I know, Gabriel. I know.”

“Good. That's good.”

He breathes a kiss over her mouth, the warmth of his lips just barely passing over hers, and then he tugs forward again, pulling her with.

Somehow the stronger one.

Katrina is weak with vertigo when they pass through the slant of light falling in through the door, blinking in the harsh glare of the corridor.

Tilly rushes to their aid, and Katrina sighs with relief when she takes over some of Gabriel's weight.

"This is Cadet Tilly. Tilly, meet Captain Gabriel Lorca."

"Sir."

"Can you support him?" She holds Tilly's gaze, the memory of the _other_ one passing like a shadow over her face. It's just a moment, then Tilly catches herself, and nods. Good girl.

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, let's move then. I've got you covered."


	10. driving the edge of a knife

_She stands by the wide open window, shivering in the thin fabric of Gabriel's dress shirt, the sleeves too long, the hem just barely skirting the tops of her thighs._

_The first thing she passed on her way over from the bed._

_Their bed._

_A smile steals softly over her mouth, warm with the memory of the last night, the first they've spent in the house they've moved into together._

_Not much rest for the wicked._

_She leans out over the windowsill, right into the view of the small garden, breathing deeply._

_A first freshening of spring in the air, branches laden with nascent buds of green, sleepily nodding up and down under a sudden drizzle of April rain._

_Gabriel comes up behind her, sleep-warm skin all over her as he enfolds her in his arms, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, his languid grin a tickle on her cheek._

_"What?" It's a luxury yet, to settle back in his embrace, all that glorious nakedness at her beck and call. Every day, whenever she pleases._

_"You look happy." The murmur of his voice over her mouth sends a delicate tingle through her, the faintest stirring of arousal, and Gabriel, as though to chase it, slides his hand across the flat of her stomach, teasing and light._

_"I am." She gasps, then moans for him, parting her lips under the relentless lave of his tongue as his hand travels lower to slip between her legs, his kiss as sure and firm as the rub and curl of his fingers over the eager swell of her clit._

_"Me, too. Never more than now." The press of his weight from behind her is perfect, and she pushes back against it, wanton for the hardness of his body, the wonderful searing heat of him. "Come back to bed with me, Katrina."_

_She does with a smile, all sultry and slow._

_To think she's ever been satisfied with any less than this._

//

The way back feels so much longer, Katrina almost sending them the wrong way once, all those hallways swimming before her eyes. She blinks, hard, and gets them back on course.

Tyler has acquired two more prisoners for their small collection, both tied up safely in Tilly's cell. Their weapons securely fastened to Tyler's belt, his trophies of war.

Katrina has no reason to doubt him, none at all.

But he's been alone with them for too long.

Better safe than sorry.

She can't be having with another spy aboard her ship.

"In the spore chamber, when you restrained Lorca for me. What did I say about our prisoners?"

Tyler merely grins at her.

"That we treat them with respect. Even if they don't return the courtesy. Those sick fucks."

Almost verbatim, and Katrina certainly doesn't mind the addendum.

She nods, a small smile the only apology she can give.

"This is Gabriel Lorca. He is with me. You will treat him with utmost care. Have I made myself understood?"

"Perfectly, Admiral."

"Good. Then let's get ready to leave."

Tyler catches her by the arm before she's even fully lost her footing. Stays her sway with a strength she's only too happy to lean on.

She will only need a minute of it.

Maybe two.

“Kat.” Gabriel peels away from Tilly's support, steady enough now on his own two feet. Propped up by the urgency of his concern. Through her dizziness, Katrina manages a smile for him. And here she'd thought she was rescuing him. “What's wrong?”

“I just need a moment. Gotta catch my breath. It's been a bit of a tough ride.”

Next to her, Tyler very nearly succeeds at suppressing his huff.

"She's injured. Bitch came at her with a knife. Sorry, ma'am. Captain asked."

Like she isn't the admiral around here. Gabriel relieves him as her prop, and isn't it odd how very different his hand feels on her arm. The same strength, but warmer somehow. All gentle and caring.

"Let me see." There's an edge somewhere under the softness in his voice, a certainty that doesn't allow for even the smallest opposition.

Only that's never quite worked out for him, has it. Katrina raises her chin.

Always the stubborn one.

"It's under control. Hardly more than a scratch."

He runs his fingers over her flank, barely touching. They come away red.

Oh, well. There's no protesting that.

"Yeah, I can see that." For all of its brevity, Katrina doesn't miss the sharp clench of his jaw. "Stop being headstrong, Katrina. Be a doctor. Let me help."

"Isn't much we can do about it here. Compression will help, though. Tilly, could I borrow your jacket, please?"

She presses it into Gabriel's hands. “Fold it in two along its length. Make it real tight.” The sweep of her fingers over his is brief and furtive, her voice very soft for him. “It's going to hurt, okay?”

He nods before he closes his arms around her, immobile for a moment, almost an embrace. His mouth on her ear not quite a kiss. “I'm sorry, Kat.”

She clutches at his sides, pushes her face into his shoulder, her grunt of pain a secret between them. Just a few breaths, his hand light on the small of her back, his scent a soothing wash of memory all over her.

When she steps away, careful not to linger about it, Tilly and Tyler look all busy securing the corridor just outside the door.

Their discretion at Katrina's service.

A courtesy she must remember to thank them for later.

Gabriel makes a show of fastening the sleeves securely around her, standing only a little bit closer than strictly necessary.

"Stop fussing." Her admonishment rendered useless by the tender curl of her mouth. She's always been too soft with him. Too enamored.

Never more so than now.

"Not for a long time, I won't."

It sounds like a promise to Katrina's ears.

One she means for him to keep, if he's willing.

“Shall we?” He asks, a quiet sort of determination settling on his face, a strength of will that just a few hours ago, Katrina hadn't dared hope to see again so soon.

"Not quite yet. There's something needs doing before I can leave."

In her cell, Kit is wide awake, struggling against the tightness of her bonds.

Obviously unused to being restrained in any way.

Free rein to do as she pleased for all of her life.

Nothing to curb her at all.

Katrina sinks down onto her, pins her writhing body under the full force of her weight.

Entirely unimpressed by the cold burn of fury in her mirror's eyes.

She slips her knife from her sleeve, all slow for Kit to see, then lays it out on the sudden stillness of her chest.

"Here. I've got a parting gift for you. Keep it. I don't need it anymore. Much as I'm tempted to push it all the way through to that rotten core of yours. But I'm going to do something else instead. I'm going to destroy the heart of all of this. The minute I'm back on my ship? I'm going to sic the Klingons on you. And if there is any justice in this world, then you will learn the true meaning of terror."

From where he's been waiting behind her, Gabriel brushes his fingers over the back of her head. “Come on, let's go.”

“Yes. Let's.”

She never spares a backward glance as she leaves by Gabriel's side.

//

There's no preparing them for the sight of the dome, the magnitude of its transgression into their lives. So she lets them stare, look their fill before she urges them on, back on their way out of this nightmare.

In less than a few hours, the place will only live on where it has etched itself into their memory.

The ride in the elevator takes forever, its rumbling rise a slow and terrible thing.

"How did you even get here?"

There's genuine curiosity in Gabriel's voice, but she's too well-trained to miss that crawl of anxiety underneath.

Not one of them more eager to get out of here than him.

"With... my ship.” Not hers, not really, and no intention at all of keeping it. “The _Discovery_. She's using an experimental drive system for propulsion. Apparently, there are unwanted side effects."

"Finally back in command then, huh? I always thought you might like to have another go at it after I got the _Buran_."

Oh god.

The _Buran_.

It hasn't even crossed her mind that he doesn't know.

His ship, his crew, his friends. All gone.

A blow he is in no condition to take. Not now, not for a long time to come.

She'll tell him, later. Break it to him gently.

The slide of the door absolves her of having to answer any more questions.

At least for now.

The storm hasn't let up at all; if anything, it has gained in force, harsh and dense with a weight of dust that settles thickly in their mouths, their noses, the back of their throats.

Each breath a hard-won victory over the burn in their lungs.

They cross the length of the square one after the other, their shoulders hunched, huddling close, Tyler taking point, leading them away from the complex in a straight line.

Wrecked by coughs, her flank a livid surge of pain, Katrina seeks shelter behind the broad of Gabriel's back, pressing as close as she possibly can without stumbling into him.

One hand steady on the curve of his waist.

She almost bumps into him when he turns to talk to her, his words lost in the angry rip and tear of the storm around them.

Katrina strains to hear, pushing close, but it doesn't matter anymore when they're engulfed by the blessed hum and warble of the transporter beam.

Going home at last.

//

"Mental trauma, substantial loss of blood, a ten-inch cut that nicked several non too minor arteries, should I go on? You're about as unfit for duty as they come, Admiral."

Arms crossed, feet planted, Culber looks about as amenable to her request of being released from sickbay as any Klingon prison guard. He even took the trouble to place himself between her and the door.

As though she might actually make a dash for it.

“I'm fine, Doctor. At least for the duration. And you did fix that gash.”

“Upright and breathing, yes. Fine, not so much. I want you to stay here. Let me treat you. Properly. Everything I did so far barely counts as preliminary.”

Next to her, sat on the edge of his biobed, Gabriel gives a soft little sigh.

“My place is on the bridge. I need to be the one to do this. My decision. My orders. My responsibility. Please. I won't be long."

End the threat, and get them safely home.

She promised herself, promised _them_ , and she can always rest later.

“Please, Dr. Culber. Let me do this. I'm fit to. And I will return here the instant we made the jump back home. Let you perform all the treatments you deem necessary.”

“Admiral, you need time to recover. Mr. Saru is perfectly capable--”

"Let her go."

Gabriel ignores the surprised flick of her gaze, his eyes on Culber. “Trust me, if this is what she needs to do, isn't a thing you or I could say that will stop her. Isn't that right, Katrina?”

He does look at her now, a burn of determination in his eyes, a quiet depth of understanding.

Her accomplice.

She's never loved him more than in this moment.

“That's right.”

Culber huffs out a breath. “Fine. Have it your way. You have thirty minutes. And I will monitor your life signs. Closely, Admiral. If I see reason for concern--”

“I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” She can't help but glance at the unruly tug of Gabriel's smile, much as he's trying to rein it in. “Uhm, could you give us a moment, please?”

"Oh, yeah. Sure." His gaze flickers from Gabriel to her, then back again. Assessing, undoubtedly, the exact nature of their connection. “I have... places to be. Patients to tend to. Who actually allow me to tend to them.”

He leaves them with a pointed look that's somewhat ruined by the small, knowing smile he directs at Gabriel.

Handing over responsibility for her care.

Katrina waits for him to round the corner into ICU before she steps close, careful not to push too deeply into his space. Just a brush of her hip against his thigh, her fingers splaying lightly on the curve of his knee.

“Thanks for your support.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” he murmurs, his hand sliding over hers, warm and sure.

In her chest, Katrina's heart is a hopeful quiver.

“Can I ask you for a kiss?” It's easier to whisper, in case it's too much. Too soon.

“For good luck?”

He slips an arm about her waist, the lightest of pulls, and she yields, pliant, a soft curve against the plane of his chest.

“For me.”

“C'mere, Kat,” his lips so delicate over hers, “come to me, that's it.”

He hums against her mouth and she whimpers, lost in his gentle tenderness, the light play of his lips over hers.

A new first kiss for them to remember.

He breaks away too soon and she follows, nuzzling at the curve of his smile, loathe to leave him for the burden of duty.

“I'm feeling very lucky,” she tells him, lighter now for the comfort of his presence. “Very much, Gabriel.”

“Go take us home, Katrina,” he says, and sends her off with a final kiss, more fervent for being the last.

For now.

//

“Have Stamets stand by to jump at my mark.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Saru slides a glance at Burnham on his left, as though prompting her to speak.

"I've picked up some of their signatures when you contacted us,” she says, her eyes never straying from Katrina's. How young she looks, how serious. How utterly determined. “I integrated them into a comm routine. Retrofitted a number of emergency beacons to play it on loop, a nice strong signal sending on any known subspace channel. Should be more than enough to draw the Klingons' attention."

“Draw their fire to the Empire's hideout,” Saru goes on, “if we place the beacons around the perimeter of their shields. We are ready to beam them down on your orders.”

Katrina splays her hands on the desk, leaning toward them, careful to have her voice be calm, and perfectly neutral. “We are acting on Starfleet's orders here, but if you are in any way uncomfortable with my decision, then this is the time for you to file your protest in the official log, Mr. Saru. You, too, Burnham, if you don't want this to further mar your record.”

“Protest, ma'am?” Burnham exchanges a look with Saru, then gives Katrina a perfectly Vulcan lift of her brow. “It was us who devised the majority of this plan, was it not?”

“Indeed,” Saru says, with a small formal bow.

Katrina never tries to keep the fierce smile off her face.

“Then I should like to thank you for effort. I will commend you, and this crew, for exemplary conduct in the face of excessive adversity. I couldn't have hoped for more apt support.” She stands up tall, her shoulders straight. “Let's make an end of the Empire's threat. Let's go home.”

//

“Energize.”

The bridge is alive with a current of excitement, each one of them staring at the screen with hope and a prayer.

They don't even have to wait for too long.

Their ships uncloak one at a time, an armada of formidable size, a whole fleet of Klingon predominance. A force of invasion that won't be stopped.

Victory the only viable outcome.

Katrina imagines them crawling all over the place, a spread of pain and terror throughout each corridor, each hidden room. All mirrors torn down, or blasted apart, their secrets safe again.

Her mirror self still prone in that cell, a victim of her own vicious schemes.

And if that's weakness, the most callous kind, she's happy to give in to it.

"Black alert." The words harsh and flat through her tightly gritted teeth, her flank on fire with a bright burn of pain. Almost there now. Only one order left. "Go. Take us home."

 _Discovery_ jumps, and the bridge starts to sway, bucking and unsteady under Katrina's feet. The heave of a tide she has nothing left to set against.

Sweat on her face, clammy and cold.

Beneath her, the ground opens up, a yawning abyss, and darkness sucks Katrina in.


	11. when we're in the darkness

_It's been two years, and she's done pretty well building a new life for herself, all those memories of her old one calmly at rest under the demands of her burgeoning career._

_Not so calm now, with him in the same room, and of course they were bound to meet again at some point._

_There's only so many officers rising through the ranks the way either of them has._

_"A drink, for old times' sake?"_

_He looks gorgeous, he does; the tight build of his body, the charm of his smile._

_The hint of seduction in the slide of his gaze._

_She can't say no to that._

_They share a bottle of Scotch, not their usual, sat on the floor of his quarters, the way they used to, way back when they were both so terribly young._

_So terribly in lust, unaware of the wealth of emotion that would follow._

_They can be all friendly like this, ever more so as the bottle grows emptier between them._

_The stories they trade too old to be harmful, or too new yet to catch at what they have once shared._

_But Gabriel keeps stealing little touches, a graze of his fingers over hers, the press of his shoulder into her arm as he leans past to top up their glasses, and even, at one point, a brief brush of his mouth over the heat in her cheek, a flare of desire bright and naked in his eyes._

_It seems only fair to burn her lips over his, return the favor, take something back for herself._

_Both of them acutely aware of the spark that springs back to life with such frightening ease between them._

_Neither of them willing to resist._

_"Kat," he gasps, her name a hot spill all over her mouth, and then he's wrapping himself around her from behind, cradling her hips in the spread of his knees, pressing small kisses to the side of her neck. "Let me, just let me---_

_She lets him._

_Lets him slip his fingers into her, his thumb on her clit, her hand over his, pushing him closer deeper faster there._

_Lets him make her come so hard she sobs with it, the sound a dry burn in her throat, Gabriel's arms around her going tighter, reeling her back, closer to him. Keeping her, boneless, afloat on the rapid rise and fall of his chest._

_He releases her as soon as she stirs, breathing heavily against her neck, harsh pants that wash hotly over the delicate flush of her skin._

_His own need not yet seen to._

_He's full and heavy in the curl of her palm, restless under the slide of her hand, the flex of his thighs powerful as he raises himself to push against her pull._

_But he doesn't follow when she quickens her pace, going still with a groan, reaching out to draw her hand away._

_A plea simmering in the dark of his eyes._

_"Kat, no. Not like this. Please. Let me be with you."_

_He needs her._

_Needs this._

_Them._

_She's more drunk on the knowledge than she is on the Scotch._

_She had forgotten, has made herself forget, how very good at this they have been._

_How intense._

_How much she still craves the push of his body, that slow stretch of pleasure around the surge of his heated flesh._

_The incessant rub of his fingers on the small of her back, coaxing her body to move into his._

_The fervor of his mouth as he licks at her throat, the wet slide of his tongue in perfect sync with the urgent roll of his hips._

_The heat of his breath as he urges her on, more vocal than she remembers, so good for me baby, so fucking amazing, so close for you, so close, I need you to come, I need you, need you, so close, so much, so--_

_The rest of it lost in the heady rush of her climax, her breath held tight, her chest so deliciously wide with it, a steep rise of need, then the edge of her tension crashing down over her, a gloriously resounding pulse of pleasure in its wake._

_Gabriel groans, his mouth wide open over hers, sliding and moving and kissing as he finishes with a series of hard, urgent thrusts._

_Clinging to her shoulders like she might up and leave._

_Leave him behind._

_The way she did two years ago._

_She lets him couch her head on the bend of his arm, lets him kiss her, pull her into his body and away from the hardness of the floor._

_Too drunk to resist his gentle approach, the bliss of an intimacy she's missed for so long._

_"Let's have this, Kat. Let's give each other this much at least."_

_It's a bad idea, she knows it is, because it still hurts to have him be this close again._

_Warm and solid and alive in her arms._

_His face soft and lovely with the glow of his hope all over it._

_She nods, so very much in spite of herself, and kisses him around the pang in her chest._

_He holds her close with a tenderness that makes her ache. Makes her want to apologize, tell him how much she misses him._

_Maybe next time._

_It'll be easier then._

//

"Culber's pretty pissed off at you."

She's guessed as much, even though he has been good about letting her come to her senses in the half hour she's been awake. Performing his scans with a minimum of fuss.

Making room for Gabriel to draw up a chair next to her bed, a bit of a grin on his face that softens the tired lines around his eyes.

Katrina nods, not exactly surprised, then squints at him. Searching.

"You?"

He rocks back on his chair, a habit he knows she's always found irksome, and that grin of his spreads, rich with good humor. A touch of warmth in his eyes that makes her dizzy with relief.

"Oh, I've known you for too long to still get mad at your antics."

"Antics? I got us home. In one piece." A stir of concern makes her scrunch up her nose. "Are we in one piece?"

A smile instead of a grin, now, all reassurance. And no small amount of pride.

"Pretty much. Ship's fine. Spore drive's on hold for the time being. We're en route to Earth, on Command's orders. Came out on the far side of the quadrant. Even at maximum warp, we're looking at a weeklong trip."

"You make a pretty decent Number One."

That earns her a mock two-fingered salute, and she laughs at the good-natured cheek of him. Happy to see him at his ease for a while. Even if it's mostly just to make her feel better.

"Saru stopped by to check on you. I had him bring me up to speed. Thought you might be curious."

"I'm _concerned_. What's wrong with the spore drive?"

"The drive itself appears to be fine. It's Stamets who needed some major fixing up. Another reason for you to tread lightly about Culber, I'd say. Just this morning, I heard them shout at each other. And then I heard them being rather quiet for some time."

It really doesn't take his raised brow for her to get his meaning.

"Got to know my crew a little while I was out, huh?"

"I got bored, with you out of it for so long. You still tired? Culber said you might be for a little while yet."

He scoots close, finally fixing that chair under him, and she smiles under the tender sweep of his fingers over her cheek.

"I'm beat."

His thumb over mouth, just the lightest of touches, has her shiver. He cups her chin, half-raising to meet her for a quick press of his lips to hers. "You don't look it."

She hums with the current between them, his mouth still so very close to hers.

"Flattery will get you anywhere."

"Not out of sickbay, it won't. C'mon, get comfy. I'll wait up."

//

There is such a thing as too much rest, but Culber will hear none of it, and so Katrina waits for him to make his last round before she pulls out her datapad, reviewing her report to Command.

The nurse on night shift is busy in ICU, or else he pretends to be, granting Katrina a share of privacy she's sorely missed in the past two days.

Constant surveillance, scans, the bustle of sickbay around her.

In the bed next to her, no more than a few paces away, Gabriel stirs in his sleep. Prone on his stomach, all she can see of him is the back of his head, the not so round curve of his shoulder, the tightness of his back.

They've hardly had time to talk.

Or sit with each other, closer than a mere friendship would warrant.

Katrina isn't even sure why she cares about that front any more.

A small moan makes her look up from her pad, over to where Gabriel has shifted to his back, one hand clutching at the sheets, a frown disturbing the supposed peacefulness of his rest.

He's whispering in his sleep, but she can't make out the words, not even when she goes over, splaying her hand over his chest, her ear to his mouth.

The cause of his agitation a secret he keeps for now.

She knows there's plenty for him to choose from.

He stills under the gentle stir of her fingers through his hair, a small sigh marking the end of his nightmare, his breathing evening out again.

Katrina sits with him for the rest of the night.

//

He joins her in the small area Culber has cleared for them to have a quiet place to poke at their meals together. Pulls his chair round the table to sit next to her.

"Katrina?"

Not Kat, and that tells her pretty much everything she needs to know. The tight line of his jaw, the nervous catch in his voice entirely unnecessary to alert her to his apprehension.

She didn't expect this so soon.

But then, this is Gabriel, with a mind too quick to stay at rest for long. A mind so utterly idle these past few days.

Too much time to think.

And she herself caught up in the throes of her own recovery.

Maybe she should have expected it sooner.

"Yes?"

"Tell me what's wrong with my ship. I saw the look on your face when I mentioned her in that elevator. I want to know."

He doesn't. He only doesn't know it yet.

But perhaps the hard punch of knowledge is better than the torment of incessant guessing.

Easier, after a time, to work with.

To get over.

She's brief about it, just the facts, the sum and total of what she knows.

Sparing him the details. Of those, he will never learn.

Not from her, not from anyone else. Not if she can help it.

He doesn't need them.

The look in his eyes is terrible enough.

The pallor of shock on his face, the tight clench of his fists on his thighs.

The silence of his grief.

He lets her reach out to the side of his face, his head pliant for a moment in the cradle of her palm, then he rises, fast and on edge with a surge of emotion.

His back rigid as the door slips shut behind him.

She doesn't see him again for two hours.

//

"I walked," he says, by way of a greeting, sweat on his brow, his hands a restless sweep on the edge of her bed. "I'm tired, Kat. Scoot over?"

The bed's too small to hold them both comfortably; it takes the tight curl of his body around hers to make them fit at all.

A lack of space that for now, offers all the comfort he seeks.

Katrina has plenty more for later.

//

“So there is a chance the Klingons have infiltrated the place. Taken over the equipment the Empire used to spy on us.”

The holographic projection of Terral flickers, specks of blue skittering over the floor of the ready room.

Katrina sighs, then belatedly tries to hide it by rubbing the bridge of her nose. She's tired, and she hates it, hates the slow crawl of progress she's making in the course of her recovery.

It's not even like Terral has been especially hard on her during his examination. For all that she knows, he's gone as easy on her as he knows how to be.

But he does want that Vulcan mind of his appeased down to the last detail.

“No. I don't know. The last we saw before we jumped out they were blasting away at the coordinates we'd marked for them. Gave them everything they had, by the looks of it.”

“I see. This will bear further investigation, Admiral.”

Oh, yeah. She can see a long line of debriefs in her very immediate future.

Good thing, really, that Culber's allotted hour for today is almost up.

Being in recovery isn't all bad.

Terral catches her looking at the chronometer, of course, and there is the raise of his brow, the small bow of acquiescence.

“We should call it a day. Have a rest. We will continue at such a time as your medical state allows.”

If she didn't know better she'd think he was as irked by her downtime as she is herself. The thought makes her smile.

“Thank you, Terral. I appreciate your consideration. I know this is a matter of some urgency.”

“As is your well-being, Katrina. Be well until we speak again.”

“You, too, Terral.”

//

Culber releases them from sickbay together, even though Katrina suspects he's only made Gabriel stick around for so long to keep her company.

Have her be good about resting up.

Give Gabriel a chance to adjust.

She smiles at him with genuine gratitude.

“Thank you, Dr. Culber.”

“I'd tell you to come back if something was wrong in any way, but I suppose that would be a waste of breath. Just let me remind me you're still not cleared for duty, Admiral.”

They're both back from the dead now.

With accommodations cramped on board, captain's quarters seem like the logical choice for them to go.

Even if the place turns out a minefield for them to navigate.

Gabriel takes a while rummaging through his personal stuff, the sad remains of his belongings that survived the tragic end of his ship. Tainted by the life of another man imposed over what should have been his.

“I don't think I'm going to keep any of this,” he says, his voice tight. Katrina runs a hand over his shoulder, soothing at the tension there. “They're just things, anyway.”

They're not, they're everything he's got left in the world.

Well, not everything.

She squeezes his hand, then sighs into his mouth as he bends to kiss her, one long languid slide of his lips, his hand on the back of her neck kneading gently, insistently, until she sags against him, her tension soothed.

“No need to be upset,” he murmurs, and she nods into his chest, her ears pricked for any sign of sadness in his voice.

There is none. Well hidden, or else dispersed under his gentle care of her.

Her comfort somehow also his own.

He seems content to hold her for a while, gathered close in his arms, that wonderful warmth of his, and his chest rumbles with laughter when she yawns, the stretch of her mouth not lost on him with her pressed up so close to him.

“Already tired of me, Kat?” He says, his lips stirring her hair, and surely he must feel her answering smile, the gentle curve of it against him. “Let's get some rest.”

It sounds like a good idea, until it suddenly doesn't.

Gabriel stops on his way to the bed when she doesn't follow.

"You, ah, you take the bed and I will be quite comfortable on the couch."

She's almost glad of the way he's misinterpreting the fluster of her hesitation. He even smiles with it.

"I'm okay with sharing, Kat."

"That's good, Gabriel, really, but... I'll be fine on the couch."

"Katrina, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, really."

He stares at her, at her face, then at the bed, and she very nearly flinches at his rush of comprehension.

She never meant for this to be an issue.

"Did he... force himself on you? Hurt you?"

"No. No, it's not like that. Just. I didn't know, at the time. That it wasn't really you."

"I'm so sorry."

There's anger, yes, a quiet burn of it in his eyes because she's been hurt. But it's his concern for her that's predominant, that ever present desire for her to be all right at the forefront of his mind. They've always been different in this, her fuse so much quicker than his, and it's something about him she admires, that strength of compassion, his natural inclination to care far beyond his own well-being, even now, when he himself has been wronged on a much grander scale.

The couch is not an option, not for the both of them, and Gabriel seems dead set on spending the night by her side.

A notion she fully supports, especially with him so eager for it.

So they crash on the floor, and hasn't that been a while. Good old days all over again. She'd almost forgotten. He can do stubborn, too.

He gathers her close again, the intimacy of his embrace a gift that, up until now, Katrina has been afraid she'd lost forever.

Her heart clenches with the certain knowledge of Gabriel's generosity. The long-lasting patience of it.

She needs so much to give something back.

"I'm sorry I left." An apology twenty years in the making, too huge to ever fit into the space of four words.

Or so she's thought for the longest time.

"We both did, didn't we?"

He never asked her to stay, not with so many words, the tightness of his embrace when they would sleep together the only indication he gave of not wanting to let her go.

So easy to overlook in the harsh swell of her pain.

She traces the line of his lips, slow and careful.

"I couldn't stand to look at you and see her in the curve of your mouth. When she wasn't around to smile at me anymore."

At them, at _him_ , his girl through and through. Her loss doubled by the magnitude of his.

"We should have talked back then. Hold things together. Give it a try."

It's a monumental concession, coming from him, who never mentioned her name again after she was gone. His emotions kept so close to his chest as to hardly be there at all anymore.

"We can do now."

For all the time they've spent apart, there's always been room for their lives to intersect, overlap for hours, days at a time when they would seek each other out, one or the other yearning for the depth of their connection, that memory of who they were before, the comfort of their bond shared freely between them. Never so long as to become familiar again, too close to the life they'd shared for a while.

That ache spread out between them, wordless, gaping, only ever ignored for so long.

Not quite existing if they didn't mention it.

Just barely there enough to drive them apart, time and time again.

"I'm going to need a therapist anyway."

She hides her smile into his shoulder, where she knows he can feel it on the warmth of his skin.

"Me, too." Her kiss is small and light where it falls above the collar of his shirt, the briefest brush of her lips, the safest intimacy she can think of. She looks up at his face, searching for the faint trace of his smile. "Is this all right?"

"Yeah." He swallows around the word, one of his hands finding hers, squeezing. "I'll just need to remind myself for a little while that it really is you."

"Gabriel--"

"Shh, come here. Let me hold you. I've wanted to for so long."

She blinks away the burn in her eyes, the hollow stutter of her heart as she thinks of the endless slide of his days in captivity, filled with futile hope, his longing for home, that infinite torment he's been made to suffer.

That endless stretch of the years they've spent apart.

"Kiss me?"

"Love to."

She's soft and still in his arms, a warm weight for him to hold on to. The kiss all his, to do with as he pleases, any and all decision left to him. A promise of trust between them.


	12. for a heart I would fall (epilogue)

Everything is exactly as she remembers it.

The cabin, the lake.

The somewhat chaotic sprawl of Gabriel's company in the house.

He's back early today, slipping in through the front door under the westward dip of the sun, the light not yet tinged with that rusty hue of the late afternoon.

How much better he looks, now that's he's regained some weight, rebuilt most of his muscle. Almost back to his old shape. That tan of his like a blush on his skin, a vivid mark of hours spent lazing about in the sun.

Positively scrumptious.

And that's not two months' worth of near abstinence talking.

Sharing the same space to sleep in, slow kisses, soft touches.

A careful negotiation of what they can and can't do.

Katrina stretches out on the couch, closes her book and sets it aside, gauging his mood.

He's circling, stays out of range, runs the tips of his fingers along the edge of the table she uses as her desk. Drawing her eye to the motion of his hand, the sure, even drag of it on the lacquered wood.

Something's off today. The difference like a charge in the air.

“Hey,” he says, and there goes his hand again, sensual, slow. A show of seduction.

Two fucking months.

Katrina sits up, wins some time to steady her voice before she speaks.

Just in case it's merely her desire running wild.

“Hey, yourself. How was the city?”

This is as close as she's going to get to prying, the progress of his sessions none of her business, a point they agreed upon right from the start.

“Busy. I just wish Edmunds' office wasn't so close to headquarters.” Unless Gabriel feels like sharing, of course. "He suggested we sleep together."

Oh, god, he means it. Really does, and it's been so long, and they need to take this slow, slow, very careful.

Gabriel saunters over to let his fingers travel over the backrest of the couch. Still out of reach, but inching closer.

“I'm sure my highly esteemed colleague didn't say any such thing.”

Like that even matters when clearly he's bent on upsetting the precarious balance they've found, pushing at the boundaries they've set for themselves.

All in the name of his safe recovery. A way for them to ease back into the more complicated aspects of their relationship. A new base to found their emotions on.

"Actually, he did. Not with so many words, but we've been talking a lot about intimacy lately. Told him how much I miss it."

He's stopped his hand right next to her shoulder, a hesitant bend to the shape of his fingers. Like he means for it to be her decision whether he should move on.

When it must be his.

All she can do is to invite him in.

She settles back into the plush embrace of the couch, the line of her shoulder pliant and open.

"We've been plenty intimate."

"Uh-huh. Not like this, though. He encouraged me to move forward if I felt comfortable with it. If the both of us did." His touch is nothing she hasn't felt before, but it's different now, heavy and loaded with all the times it didn't seek to arouse. Unlike now, and Katrina revels in it, pushes into the hot slide of his hand on her shoulder. “You have for a while now, haven't you.”

“Tell me you want this, Gabriel.”

“I can do better.”

//

It's been two months, and she's been holding up well, satisfied with the fleeting warmth of his body next to hers, the whisper of his skin on hers when he held her in his arms.

But now there is heat, a fierce hunger in his embrace, all softness burned away, and she gasps with it, and shakes and strains and trembles in his arms.

“Relax, Kat. Stop thinking about her. I'm not. Haven't in a while. But I've thought about you. A whole lot. Let me show you.”

He's creative with his mouth, draws up memories from deep within her body, burns himself right back into her.

Covers her with the fullness of his weight, that sure slow press of him she missed the most, a sheen of sweat the only distance still allowed to exist between them.

That first time is over in a frenzy of thrusts, wet hot kisses that leave them gasping for air, a burn on their lips, in their lungs, all over their slick heated skin.

The second time, he makes them last, kneeling together in the middle of the bed, Katrina secure in the strength of his arms, her pace also his where she's astride on his lap.

Not a kiss that doesn't end with her name, not a thrust he doesn't support with the tender slide of his hands on her back. Keeping her deep, and slow, and close.

He's beautiful as he breaks apart underneath her, a rush of trust and affection in his eyes, and she holds on to his face, and lets herself go, falling right into him.

Not dead, not lost.

Not free from pain, either, but both of them stronger for sharing it now.

//

Night has drawn a clutter of stars across the sky, pinpoints of light that bob and drift on the dark shine of the lake.

The dock is creaking softly with the vestiges of the day's heat still soaked up in the wood, a glow that keeps them warm where they lie to gaze up at the vastness of space.

All the possibilities it holds, the places to go.

But for now, it feels good to be home.

A feeling they've shared from the earliest days of their friendship until now.

It is love, after all, no matter the name they've given it.


End file.
